Open My Eyes
by The Moonlily
Summary: A young, unusual lady teaches the King of Rohan that some of the most important things you can't see with your eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Open My Eyes

 **Rating:** T

 **Pairings:** Éomer/Lothíriel

 **Genre:** Romance/Drama

 **Summary:** A young, unusual lady teaches the King of Rohan that some of the most important things you can't see with your eyes.

 **Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

 **Author's Note:** Here comes a new story! I admit I am rather excited to finally publish this. It has been in the works for a while now, and I'm glad to finally be able to share it with you!

I hope you enjoy, and please tell me what you think!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 _July 3020, South Gondor_

The first thing Éomer son of Éomund knew upon waking was that he was in pain. Too bewildered and disoriented with this sensation, he couldn't at first locate the source of his current predicament; it seemed to him his entire body was hurting from head to toe. But at least he supposed it meant he was alive, because surely agonies of the world would be left behind in death?

He groaned and attempted to move, trying to discern how badly he was wounded and whether any of his limbs was broken or missing. But he didn't have a chance to find out anything, because there was a hand on the skin of his chest, and then a familiar voice: "Hold still, my friend. You have been injured."

"Aragorn", he rasped and blinked in an attempt to see his friend. But it was pitch black and his head was dizzy. At the very least, he was in the company of his closest friend, which meant there was no immediate danger. "Where are we?"

"I brought you to the base camp with the other wounded. It's all right, brother. You have been unconscious for many hours, but your injuries are not fatal", said the calm, soothing voice of the King of Arnor and Gondor. It had him relaxing somewhat, because Aragorn was one of the very few people in he'd take for their word without any questions. The hand which had been holding him down moved to carefully lift his head, and Aragorn spoke again, "Here, have a drink. You must be thirsty."

Éomer could not deny that, and he emptied the cup of water two times before he was satisfied. Refreshed by the drink, he was now able to pay more attention to his surroundings. Apparently he was lying in a cot, with sheets and blankets covering his battered body. Among other hurts smaller and greater his lip throbbed painfully, making him wonder if he had hit it somewhere; at least he didn't seem to be missing any teeth. Bits and pieces of memories were also starting to return, and he recalled there had been a battle... the southern sun had scorched him hotly under his heavy gear, as he had observed Aragorn's troops spreading to the desolate plain below and engaging the tribesmen in battle, and then the moment he had lead his Riders into the fray...

"Why is it so dark? Is it night?" he asked his friend, searching or the other man's face in the blackness. Why weren't his eyes adjusting to the lack of light?

"No, it's not dark. The sun rose an hour ago", said the older of the two kings, sounding rather disturbed by Éomer's question. And the Rohir was equally disturbed by the answer, because it brought him to a very disconcerting realisation.

"Aragorn, I can't see. I can't see", he choked and moved restlessly as he attempted the get up, but again his friend pressed him down.

"Be calm, brother", said the King of Arnor and Gondor, and his voice betrayed no alarm. How could the man still remain so collected? But even as Éomer's mind was starting to fill with panic, Aragorn continued, "You must focus now. What do you remember of the battle?"

The younger man took a deep breath and closed his eyes, though the latter action was rather pointless when he could see nothing to begin with and no visual disturbance was interfering with his trying to make sense of the muddle of his thoughts. He wanted nothing as much as to demand if his friend knew some remedy, but he still had enough reason to know he had to trust Aragorn and remain calm.

"We had made plans to surround the hostile tribes on the plain near Harnen... I was waiting for your signal, and then we rode to join you. I... I think everything was going just as we had hoped, but then I..." he muttered, struggling to remember. It all seemed so hazy, and he had hard time figuring out which action had preceded which. But behind all that, there was a clearer memory of a campaign they had planned: Aragorn sending an ask for help to Edoras, and his messenger talking about a threat of Harardrim tribes in South Gondor – the wild no-man's land beyond Southern Ithilien, which had often been contested for by Southrons and Gondorians since times immemorial. In rapid flow, Éomer's mind filled with images of mustering éoreds, preparations for war campaign, and then riding to aid his friend to cleanse the southern borders of invaders...

"Then what? What happened, Éomer?" Aragorn coaxed gently.

"I saw Prince Erchirion on the ground. His horse had fallen on him, and one of the enemies was trying to kill him. I took the villain down with my spear and dismounted to see if Erchirion was all right. I was trying to release him when he cried in alarm, and something stabbed me in the neck... thanks to Erchirion, I was moving and trying to dodge the attack, and so the blade didn't cut me deep. I got up and there was this tribesman with a dagger in his hand..." he answered slowly. The more he thought, the clearer the images became. "Suddenly, there were more of them. I fought them, but then my eyes started to grow dim and I could scarcely lift my arm to use my sword. I felt someone stabbing me. Then I fell and everything went dark."

"That's when Éothain got to you with several of your Riders. They were able to prevent those tribesmen from causing you further harm", Aragorn replied solemnly and rested his hand on the Rohir's shoulder. "Your captain and men rescued you and Prince Erchirion from the field, and when the battle was over, I transported you here myself. You needn't worry about Erchirion; he wasn't badly wounded. But I do believe you saved his life."

"As for your own injuries, you took several wounds that needed sewing, though I did not guess then that there might be other damage as well", Aragorn quickly continued, "I know what you must be feeling right now, but you should not give into despair yet. You said your neck was cut – I believe you were poisoned, my friend, for Southrons often lace their arrows and blades with concoctions to disarm or kill their opponents. It helps them to take down the more heavily armoured knights, and I think you were stabbed with such a weapon. I have heard of warriors losing their eyesight in battle before. This particular poison blinds you in small amounts, but a bigger dose will strip you of your senses – even induce a death-like paralysis."

"Is it permanent?" Éomer asked, trying to keep his voice from growling. How disconcerting it was, to not be able to see anything! But he felt the mattress under his back and his friend's hand on his arm. From outside, he could hear the noises of a camp in the middle of morning chores. At least he was not completely oblivious to the world.

"No, it shouldn't be. Depending on how much you got in your blood, the effects can last from one day to a week, maybe even longer. It's difficult to say, as there's no telling how fresh the poison was and how strong it was made", answered the older king.

The Rohir groaned again, though it was mostly in frustration now. Yes, he was still hurting but he could reason well enough despite the pain, so it couldn't be fatal.

"How soon do you think I'll be able to return to the battlefield?" he asked his friend.

"Your wounds need to heal first and the poison must wear off. Until then, you have no business returning to the fighting. Don't worry, my friend – Elfhelm has already assumed the command in your absence, and he'll take care of everything while you recover", Aragorn stated, just as Éomer had feared. But as much as he would have liked to argue, he knew his friend was right. What use would he be commanding the Rohirrim if he couldn't even see?

"I hate this", he eventually stated, though the complaint did not make him feel any better. Indeed, no amount of whining would make him heal faster, or return his eyesight to him.

"I know, brother. But thanks to you, Erchirion lives. Imrahil will not forget it", Aragorn said and patted his shoulder, albeit very carefully. "I'm just glad you are alive. For a moment I already thought..."

The older man didn't finish the sentence, but Éomer heard the memory of horror in his voice. He knew all too well how it felt like to see the face of someone you cared about among the slain and think they were dead too. It also softened his mood as he imagined what Aragorn must have gone through when the lifeless body of his friend was carried from the battlefield.

"What about the battle?" Éomer asked then, wondering what had been the outcome of it. Had they won? At any rate, they had had the upper hand while he had still been awake, but it was possible that him going down had dismayed the Rohirrim...

"Our forces were victorious. But don't concern yourself with it overmuch now. Éothain will fill you in with the details once you have rested. He will be glad to hear you were awake", Aragorn answered and the younger man could feel him shifting. "I will have to return the frontlines soon to make sure our triumph will not go to waste. The men should also be informed that you are not in immediate danger anymore. I hope you will not worry over the campaign, but concentrate on getting well again."

"So you expect I will be content to remain oblivious while you lead the war?" Éomer asked, though he was aware his words would have come out much more impressively hadn't it been delivered by a temporarily blind man from his sickbed.

"I will send messengers to keep you up to date, if that will make you happy – and prevent you from trying to get back to the frontlines", Aragorn answered and in his voice there was the first hint of gentle humour Éomer had heard so far.

Then his friend placed his hand against his shoulder, and continued to speak, "You must get some rest. If you are in pain, I can give you something to help you sleep."

"... aye. I'd appreciate that", Éomer muttered and settled back. Truth be told, he wished for the numbing medicines rather to keep from succumbing to panicky thoughts of never regaining his eyesight than because the pain of his injuries was too much to bear.

Perhaps Aragorn somehow knew what was on his mind, because the touch of his hand became comforting.

"Don't despair, my friend. You are strong and hardy, and I fully believe you will see again. Just be patient", said the King of Arnor and Gondor, but his words brought less consolation to Éomer than he'd have liked. Be that as it may, only thing he could do now was wait and hope.

Aragorn left his side for a moment to talk to someone close by – a guard posted at the doorway of the tent, Éomer guessed – and it was not long that another person entered the tent. The conversation was carried in soft Sindarin but he assumed his friend had merely called for medicines and someone, a healer maybe, had come to aid him.

Then the older man held a cup to his patient's mouth and the Rohir drank the cool, tasteless liquid offered to him. With it, sweet numbness began to spread and his thoughts became fuzzy, and then he knew no more.

* * *

There were unfamiliar hands on him when he woke up again. Alarm came to him instinctively and the first thing he thought was the unknown person touching him meant him harm. But even as he was trying to get up and his body was protesting to such motion, the hands quickly shifted to his shoulders and he was pushed down.

"Hold still, my lord. You shouldn't be moving yet", said a soft, female voice. He couldn't say he recognised it, and lacking visuals he couldn't dig his memory for faces, either. As the facts of his situation returned to his mind, Éomer felt dismayed. Perhaps it had been wrong to hope that by some grace of the Powers, he'd see when he woke up again.

"Who are you?" he roughly asked, still contemplating trying to get up no matter what she said.

"I am your healer, my lord. Now stay put. You're only going to hurt yourself if you're not careful", she answered patiently. Though her voice was soft and melodious, it also implied she was used giving commands. This was not a woman who was easily intimidated or ordered around.

Grudgingly he complied and settled back again in the cot. His mind was full of questions, but he decided to start with the simplest one.

"Is Aragorn still here?" he asked her.

"No, my lord. He left hours ago after you went to sleep. But he asked me to take care of you while he's away and make sure you are healed", said the woman, and listening to her speak was as though the sound of cool, clear waters running over stones. It was a gentle, comforting sound, and he wondered if it was a natural trait of hers or a skill acquired in her healer's trade.

She continued to talk, "I was just checking your injuries and changing the dressings. They seem good for the most part, but the wound on your shoulder worries me. These were sown in haste and the field healers may have missed something..."

Éomer grunted. How she made it sound like he was a patched quilt! Well, with his collection of scars, it wasn't that far from the truth.

"My lord, are you in very serious pain? King Elessar told me to give you poppy if you need it", she said then, and he felt her hand on his forearm. She had light, soft fingers – very different from Aragorn's swordsman's fists.

"Everything just hurts", he muttered in discomfort; he couldn't deny a dreamless sleep would be a welcome escape from this situation.

"Sleep may be the best medicine for you right now. But we need to get some food and drink inside of you before you can rest, my lord", she said and her hand left his skin, leaving him with the sensation of being lost. How this darkness appalled him! And how helpless it made him, along with these damned wounds!

The healer spoke softly to someone nearby, and again he guessed it was his guards. He would have liked to talk with Éothain, but right now he wasn't sure he could hold up a conversation for long. He still needed sleep.

There was the gentle rustling of clothes and he felt her presence next to him again.

"I have sent for food, my lord", she said in those soothing tones. The woman's voice was almost like a song.

"Thank you", Éomer said quietly. His eyes were wide open but all he saw was darkness, and hadn't his body felt so raw and beaten, he would have been wondering if he should ever see again.

"Don't be disheartened. Your body is strong. It will heal, but you must give it time", said the healer, and he wanted to believe her. For how could he be king if he was but a man in a broken body?

The young king had rather overestimated his current recuperation: he scarcely had strength to lift himself into a half sitting position and drink the gruel she had ordered. When he tried to lift his left arm, it felt like a blade stabbed through his shoulder. He was only able to finish the food with her help, which was rather humiliating. But he figured he wouldn't be able to retain his dignity before her anyway, if she had been assigned to stay with him until he was healed. And judging by the cleverness of her fingers and her determined attitude, she was very much used to all kinds of human conditions. She had probably seen much worse things in her time. For her, he was merely another patient she'd nurse back to health before moving on to the next wounded thing.

When he had swallowed last of the gruel and drank some water, she gave him another dose of poppy. Then, as the medicine was pulling him under and into blessed sleep, the last thing he felt was her hand on his brow.

* * *

Rest did not improve his condition. In fact, the next time Éomer woke up it was to such cold and shivering as he could not remember ever experiencing. Meanwhile, his left shoulder felt like it was on fire and he was vaguely aware of his own ragged breathing.

"Éowyn", he rasped the name of his sister, though there seemed to be a thought at the back of his mind that she was in Ithilien, getting used to her new life with Faramir. She'd not get here in time.

"Shh, my lord. Hold still", another voice spoke, and then there were those hands on his chest... did he know these hands? She sounded familiar...

"Éowyn", he spoke more forcibly now.

"You have fever, my lord. The wound in your shoulder is infected – I must open and cleanse it", said the voice, but he didn't know what to make of this. The wound... where had he got it anyway? Where was he? Why couldn't he see?

"My lady, I beg of you. Can you save him?"

Now there was a voice he recognised. Éothain! Why did his friend sound so worried?

"I can try. Have faith, captain. Your king is a strong man and the wound isn't too far gone. If I open and treat it now, he has good chances", she answered. _The healer..._ the woman with a voice like waterfalls...

"Just do it. Please help him", Éothain mumbled in a weak, strangled voice.

"I will need a moment to prepare. And I may need you, captain – he's weak but you should be here to hold him down just in case. Opening that wound will be very painful for him", came the answer, but though it seemed to promise some very agonising moments for him, Éomer couldn't find it in himself to care.

He felt a hand hold his good shoulder and there was a tightness in the grip that revealed great concern.

"Hold on, laddie. We need you to pull through this. I'm not done with you yet", a rough voice spoke quietly. Éomer only managed to groan as an answer.

People were moving about him, that much he could discern even in his current condition. Voices were talking quietly and he was growing more concerned with his burning shoulder to try to listen. But then he felt a pair of hands on his chest.

"Remember to be careful, captain. He must not take any more injury", the woman said.

"He's my king and the last of his line. Of course I'll be careful", Éothain growled. In any other situation it might have made Éomer smile. Sometimes his second in command was even grumpier than himself.

A hand touched his good shoulder again, but it was not Éothain this time. Then a voice spoke: "My lord, the wound is making you very sick. I will have to open it and it will be very painful for you, but if I do not do this, you will die. Do I have your permission to continue?"

"Do what you need to do", he rasped and breathed hard, wishing he would just pass out.

More rustling followed and there was a hard, calloused hand on his forearm. The presence of his friend was reassuring; they had seen worse times than this, and they would pull through like they had before.

"Can you wedge this between his teeth?" the healer asked.

"Aye, my lady", said the captain, and then the young king felt something like a piece of wood pushed in his mouth. The method was familiar to him, for he had endured painful wounds being sown before.

"Are you ready?" the healer asked, to which both men grunted in affirmative. Éomer took a deep breath through his nose and dug his nails into the mattress as he prepared for the slow torment he was in for.

Like expected, pain was bewildering. Before his shoulder had been on fire – now it felt like a white hot blade was being turned in it over and over again, and it was only Éothain's strong hands holding him down that kept him from thrashing about in agony. The healer spoke softly in Sindarin while she worked, her tone gentle and soothing. The young king didn't understand much of it but there seemed to be a promise that this would end soon. For both their sakes, he hoped it was true.

Then suddenly she let out a small cry, and something was pulled out of his shoulder.

"I knew it! One of their blades must have splintered when they were stabbing him", the healer said, her voice victorious. "Now I just need to clean the wound and sew him up again, and he'll be fine."

"You promise this to me, my lady?" Éothain asked gravely.

"I'm sure of it, captain. Don't be troubled – I will not let anything happen to him", she stated confidently.

Exhausted by his ordeal, Éomer could only lay down while she finished up. Compared to the pain before, the sting of whatever liquid she used to bathe the wound seemed perfectly nice. Then he could feel the stab of the needle when she stitched it close. She hummed quietly as she worked, and whether it was due to the fever he couldn't say, but her voice was almost hypnotic.

When she was done, she helped him to drink a little. Then her soft voice urged him to go to sleep, and the young king was happy to oblige.

 _To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sounds of the camp woke him up again. Having long since lost his sense of time, Éomer had no idea whether it was late or early, and how long he had been asleep. The memories were made even hazier by the fact he had no visual recollection – just sounds and unspeakable pain. But the hurt that had dominated his world at the time was now reduced, and the rest of his body did not feel quite as battered as in his first memory after the battle. Or, the memory of his healer digging his shoulder for a splintered blade simply eclipsed all other painful sensations.

"Am I alone?" Éomer asked; he felt stupid when it could be he was talking to himself, but it couldn't be helped while his powers of observation were limited. Realising his eyesight still had not returned, there was a sinking feeling in his chest.

"I am here, my lord. How do you feel?" came the answering question. He knew the voice of the healer, soft and pleasant as ever.

"Like I'm actually going to live", he said, rubbing his face. His beard felt haggard under his fingers, but he guessed his state of decline went far beyond that.

"I'm glad to hear that. And your people will be most relieved. They have been very worried about you", she said and moved close by. It was disconcerting, knowing this woman had probably saved his life, and yet he had no idea of what she even looked like.

She continued, "Your fever has broken, my lord. I do think now that the piece of blade that was stuck in the wound is gone, you will heal."

"That would be delightful", he said and sighed softly. Éothain was going to give him an earful once he was up and about – probably accuse him of stealing yet another decade of his life, as was the man's favourite complaint whenever Éomer did something his captain deemed as reckless. Pushing that thought from his mind for the time being, he inquired, "What time is it?"

"Nearly midday, my lord. It's been two days since you were brought here", the healer said. He could then feel a presence next to him, and she spoke, "Here, have a drink. You must be thirsty."

It made him feel a bit better, and at any rate he knew he needed it to replace the blood he had lost. Then at his request she sent for food, after remarking it was good that his appetite was returning.

"Mistress, may I ask your name?" Éomer inquired when she had returned from the doorway of the tent.

"I'm just a healer", she said in quiet voice, and he could detect some reluctance about it now. He lifted his eyebrows, because he had this recollection of Éothain calling her 'my lady' – a most unusual title for a mere healer, but also too unlikely to be a feverish hallucination. However, what kind of a lady would be caring for injured warriors in this camp far from the cities of Gondor?

"You saved my life, mistress. I would like to know the name of the person I owe my gratitude", he said forcibly, but it didn't seem like he much intimidated her. But then another idea occurred to him, and victoriously he announced, "If you don't tell me your name, I'll just ask Éothain. I can assure you he doesn't keep secrets from me."

"... it's Lothíriel, my lord", she answered at length, much to his surprise. He knew that name!

"Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil?" he asked her. Abruptly he wasn't so sure anymore he wasn't still having fever. A princess of Gondor, and Imrahil's own daughter no less, was here caring for his wounds! Of all the absurd things that could happen!

"Yes, King Éomer", she said, sounding a little displeased that he had been able to get his answer so easily.

"Why didn't you say so right away?" he wanted to know.

"I usually don't go by my title when I'm practising my trade", she answered him, "and before you were too ill to be talking about anything."

"I beg your pardon, but what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back in Dol Amroth?" he wondered out loud. The more he thought about this, the more bewildered he felt. Yes, he had known Imrahil's daughter had been taught in medicines – Amrothos had told him about it during the march to the Black Gate. But it didn't explain why she would travel so far south or participate in the campaign. It was most unusual that Imrahil would let her come so close to battle lines.

"I've never seen South Gondor", she said quietly, her answer coming slowly after the question, "and I wanted a change of scenery."

Éomer frowned. Something told him she wasn't being truthful with him, but while he couldn't see and wasn't in his usual health, there was little he could do to find out what she was refusing to tell him.

While he was still thinking about this, she spoke again, "My lord, I too owe you my gratitude. I heard what you did for my brother Erchirion... King Elessar said he would probably have died if you hadn't helped him."

"It's nothing. He's my friend and I do not leave brothers in arms to die if I can prevent it", he simply said.

It was then the food arrived, brought in by his esquire; the brief conversation between the lad and the Princess revealed he was excited to see his king awake, but she shooed him quickly out. Eating did not require as much aid now – once she had helped him to sit up against some pillows, he was able to conduct that very simple task himself. However, it took unusual effort, not only because he was still weak, but also because he lacked the aid of his eyes. Momentarily he even thought of asking her to leave until he had finished. But she was calm and tactful, and in her manner there was something that made it easy to trust her. How was it possible? She was young, younger than Éowyn, and yet she seemed so much older than her twenty years. How was it possible this healer princess was Amrothos' sister? Or perhaps all maturity and wisdom had just skipped the youngest of three princes and his share had gone entirely to his sister.

"How did you become a healer?" he asked her when he had finished the food and she was checking on his wounds again. It felt strange indeed, being so trapped in the darkness without his eyes, and feeling her clever fingers whisper against his skin. Right now this sensation felt like the chief proof that the world was still real.

"It just made sense when I was younger. It seemed like a useful trade to pursue... a way I could make a difference. Father would never have allowed me to become a warrior like my brothers, but he had no qualms about letting me to study healing arts", she answered while she rolled open the dressing around his forearm. But Éomer heard again that wariness in her tone as before, and he knew this story too had more to it than she was letting on.

"Were you in the White City during the Battle of Pelennor fields?" he asked then.

"Yes. I served with other healers in the Houses of Healing", the Princess answered.

"Strange. I often visited Éowyn and the wounded Rohirrim, but I don't think we met", he said, frowning as he spoke. Rummaging through his memory, he couldn't dig up anything about those days in Mundburg that would imply he had seen her. Surely she would have been introduced to him, being a part of Prince Imrahil's family?

"I stayed mostly with the more seriously injured, unless I was looking after my cousin", she said, sounding reluctant.

"But didn't you participate any of the feasts?" he wanted to know and remembered the celebrations after Sauron's fall like a noisy, colourful dream. She would skip the many celebrations but be right at home here, close to war? The more she talked, the more confused he was. This Amrothian princess sounded so unlike anything he knew, and if she had not been touching him, he might have taken her for a voice talking in his head.

"No. I don't much care for crowds", Princess Lothíriel replied, and now her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Well, if it's any consolation, those feasts were fairly dull", he said at length, not knowing what else to say. He was too perplexed with her to think of anything remotely intelligent.

She let out a small laugh.

"You must be the only person who thinks so. Everyone else kept harping about them for months", she said softly and he could sense her leaning closer to him, her fingers resting against his chest softly. In a more solemn tone, she noted, "Your shoulder looks much better now. It has started to heal, like the other wounds. You'll be fine in no time, my lord."

"In that case, I'd like to talk to Éothain. I still haven't got a report on the battle, and Aragorn must have sent messages since he left", he said and tried to sit up straighter in the cot. However, her hand, still resting on his chest, pressed him down.

"You shouldn't be over-exerting yourself, Sire", she said disapprovingly.

"My lady, we are both going to be a lot happier if you allow me to have at least a short chat with my captain. You have no idea of how truly annoying I am capable of being, and I assure you, it's not something you want to find out", he told her firmly. The princess made a displeased sound and he imagined she looked at him like a matron looks at an unruly child. In a more complacent tone he added, "I will follow all your instructions if you just let me speak to Éothain. I promise I'm not going to try and lead the war from this cot."

She snorted as an answer, and he wasn't sure if it was just his fancy or not, but she sounded like she hadn't been able to hold back the wryly amused sound.

"Well, in that case I suppose I can allow it", Princess Lothíriel stated at length. "But you must promise you'll get some rest afterwards. Your wounds are healing indeed, but I will not let you compromise your recovery."

"Absolutely, my lady. Whatever you want", he told her and smiled, though he had no idea of how that expression came across when he was haggard and bed-ridden. It was odd, really: he hardly gave much thought to appearances, but now that he was without his eyes, it bothered him constantly!

When Éothain entered, making his king aware of his arrival by a warm greeting, the healer princess left the tent to give them a chance to talk in peace. She didn't exit before demanding the captain should be careful and not wear his king down. However, there seemed to be no reason to fear that: the voice of his second in command was most solemn when he promised to keep the conversation short. Finally, Éothain had found someone to match his endless concern for his king's health and well-being!

The captain sounded to be shuffling about, perhaps finding himself a chair and moving it next to the cot, til he settled down with a small huff that allowed Éomer to get some idea of where his friend was. Himself, the young king was half sitting against the pillows. His friend proceeded to give a report on the events of the battle.

"As you know, we had the upper hand from the start, and Aragorn and Elfhelm were able to keep it together even after you went down. There was some dismay among our éoreds when the word spread that you were injured, but the Marshal did a good job in holding the lines", Éothain spoke, and Éomer could imagine him gesturing swiftly as was his habit.

"I was busy trying to get you out of there and somewhere safe", the captain continued. "Prince Erchirion was with us – the poor bugger was in shock, he wasn't making any sense the way he babbled and held your head in his lap... I suppose he was convinced you had got killed trying to save him. Then Deormund raced to us with a healer, who patched up the worst of your wounds until you could get a proper treatment."

"And the battle?" Éomer asked, frowning in thought.

"We won, but the victory was not as definitive as we had hoped. Many of the tribesmen were able to escape the site, and since then Aragorn and Elfhelm have only been able to engage them in smaller skirmishes. Too many of them are still left out there. If we should retreat north right now, they would soon be back to these lands", Éothain answered, making his king groan in exasperation. Of course it should go like that while he was unable to participate!

At his request, the captain described the events of the battle and past few days more in detail. He spoke of the messages Aragorn and Elfhelm had sent, the losses their forces had taken, and what the other commander's expected now. As for the young king himself, he had been brought to the base camp near the sea: most of the men there were those who had taken injury or were assigned to other duties than fighting in the front. Imrahil's ships guarded them from the sea and provided logistics.

Quietly Éomer mulled over the information his captain had just given him. He didn't like the idea of being stuck here in a long and fruitless war. Eventually, summer would end and the time of harvest would be on them. And the military force of the Mark had not yet recovered from the losses of the Ring War: many of the men riding here in south would be sorely missed back home. Aragorn's spies had insisted the tribes invading South Gondor could be crushed quickly, and on that he had based his decision to join the campaign with such numbers.

He rubbed his chin and went over everything again. Would that his fellow king had been here! It would be so much easier to come up with a plan together with his ally. But he was supposed to lay in idleness and not bother himself with war...

The idea occurred to him abruptly. It was such an obvious thing, he wanted to laugh.

"What is it? Why are you smirking like that?" Éothain asked, and even without seeing his face, Éomer could tell the other man was curious. The young king knew his captain so well, reading the nuances of his voice was not particularly difficult.

"Does Aragorn still have any of his spies infiltrated in the tribes?" Éomer asked back.

"I think so, yes. Why do you ask?" his captain wanted to know, sensing the young king had something in his mind.

"I was just wondering... what do you suppose those tribesmen would do if they were lead to believe that the King of Rohan has died of his wounds?" he suggested, and his friend let out a low, throaty chuckle.

"I would say they are going to grow overly bold. They will think Eorlingas are too distraught to fight", Éothain said, and Éomer could hear the grin in his friend's voice.

"Send word to Aragorn. I don't think he fancies the idea of a long war any more than I do", said the Lord of the Mark and leaned back against the pillows. Wryly he added, "Just don't tell Princess Lothíriel. I promised I wouldn't be trying to lead the war from my sick bed."

"My lips are sealed", Éothain said sagely. Then he reached to pat his king's good shoulder, and he spoke, "But now you must get some rest. That young lady wields a knife more skilfully than some warriors do, and I have absolutely no doubt she won't take my balls if she thinks you've relapsed because of me."

"That's a new, Éothain – getting scared of a tiny princess", Éomer snorted, though he did settle back in the cot.

"Oh, she's scarier than you know", the captain muttered dryly. "Sleep now, laddie. Get better. We need you on the field."

* * *

Éomer couldn't deny he didn't wish that sleep would be the key to getting back his eyesight. However, when he woke up to yet another day without being able to see, there was little he could do to fight off the growing dread in his chest. Yes, Aragorn had said it was supposed to be temporary, but what if his friend had got it wrong? What if he would stay blind for the rest of his life?

The young king lay quietly in his cot, holding his eyes close and hoping for a miracle. But when he opened them again, he saw nothing. With a groan he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. What use would he be to anyone if he couldn't see? He was a warrior and lately he had been trying to become a king, and neither were professions well suited for blind men. And Rohan was still long way from fully recovered. His land needed a ruler who was not hindered by any physical afflictions. And he was a young man, his best years were still ahead of him; what kind of a life would it be, if he should spend the rest of his years as a helpless ward for others to tend to?

Angry frustration boiled in his blood, and though Éomer could well feel that his strength had not yet grown that much, he forced himself to sit up. For a moment he struggled with the blanket, which was surprisingly difficult to disentangle his legs from without visuals. Then he lifted his legs over the edge of the cot and felt the furs under his bare feet. Aches and hurts throbbed all over his still not fully recovered body, and he felt like a prisoner under his own torn and battered skin. How he wanted to lift himself, feel as swift and strong as always, and stride out to see his men! To leap in Firefoot's saddle and ride to where he wanted to be!

"My lord! What are you doing?" Princess Lothíriel's voice rose, interrupting his racing thoughts.

"I want to get up", he grunted in grim determination and tried to lift himself, but then her hands were pushing him down.

"Absolutely not! Or do you want your wounds to open?" she asked sternly, holding him down so easily that either she was a very strong woman or he was really weak. "My lord, stay down or I will not hesitate to summon your captain! I do not think he will find it difficult at all to knock you down."

"My lady, I warn you -" he tried, but the Princess did not allow him to continue.

"Don't you dare use that tone with me! I'm the one in charge here. Now sit back or so help me Elbereth, I _will_ tie you down in that cot until you are fully healed", she commanded, and she delivered it so fiercely that any Rohirric captain could have envied her.

Éomer was too bewildered to argue further. Imrahil's daughter, a gently bred southern princess, was giving him orders! He would have been angry with her hadn't he been so astonished – even if a voice at the back of his head was pointing out she was perfectly right. No matter how much he'd have liked to get out of this tent right now, he knew he wasn't strong enough yet.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are bossy?" he asked her testily.

The princess let out a soft laugh.

"All the time, my lord. But as long I'm your healer, it is my right to order you around. So quit complaining and do as I say", she said lightly and he could sense her moving away, though he had no doubt she would jump on him immediately if he tried to rise. What a strange feeling it was, to be taking commands from someone who had to be half his size! However, he knew he had to listen to her if he meant to get well.

"My lady, if you will not let me get out of this bed, I will surely go mad. I do not ask to go running outside – just that I may stand up and stretch my legs a little, and maybe get a wash", he tried in his most appeasing tone. It was frustrating when he couldn't see and tell whether his plead was working or not.

"Well, if your captain agrees to assist and support you, then I suppose you could get up for a bit. But you must promise me to be careful and patient. If your wounds open, I'm going to have your hide", she said at length.

"Doesn't that rather defeat the purpose you're here?" Éomer asked innocently.

He could hear her snorting, but when she spoke again, she was able to sound strict and collected, "Do you want to get up from that bed or not?"

"Yes, my lady", he said most solemnly, though he was smiling.

Éothain arrived soon after the Princess had summoned him. He was happy to help out, probably at least partly because he wanted the reassurance of seeing his king up and standing, even if it was with support. Washing took more time than usually, because his aim was not very nimble at the moment, and there were bandages and wounds he needed to mind. Even so, at the end of it Éomer felt a little less unkempt.

Nevertheless, concern also remained to his captain. For when he had aided his convalescent liege-lord to sit down in a chair, he asked warily, "So, can you see anything yet?"

"No, I can't", Éomer answered, his brief joy at being able to move a little vanishing quickly, though he tried to remind himself Aragorn had said it could take many days. So he continued, hoping to ease the mind of his friend, "But I suppose it's too soon anyway. We just have to wait."

"Well, if that's any consolation, we both know it could have been much worse. For a moment I even thought..." Éothain muttered, but he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

"I'm sorry it happened. But I had to help Erchirion", Éomer said quietly, remembering the moment he had seen his friend on the ground... the image was burned into his memory, for it was one of the last things he had seen. Since then, all was darkness.

"I know. I'm well aware you would probably have tortured yourself over it for the rest of your life, hadn't you aided him", Éothain stated and he sounded wry. He patted the shoulder of his king carefully, "No wonder the Princess has kept such watch over you ever since she heard what you did for her brother. She has to be a gifted healer... even I was already wondering if I would have to bury you."

"And be rid of me that easily?" Éomer asked, mostly because he didn't want to think of how close death had brushed by him twice in a short period of time.

Though he couldn't see, he could practically feel the glare of his captain.

"It's no laughing matter, lad. Don't you realise how devastated Éowyn would have been?" Éothain demanded sternly.

"Oh, I do. I do very well", said the young king and rested his head against his hand. Perhaps it was because his eyes were dark that he could picture the Battle of Pelennor fields so vividly... Éowyn's white face as she lay still among the dead, and the madness that had taken him when he had thought his entire family was gone. Sometimes, that crimson wrath still haunted his dreams.

"Are you trying to upset my patient, Captain Éothain? I told you to be careful", a sudden sharp voice interrupted them. If one hadn't known better, one might have guessed this Gondorian princess was well used to ordering Eorlingas around – or she had taken lessons with Heagyth, Éomer's chatelaine who was famous for her single-minded management of the royal household. What she called "male nonsense" had no business taking place anywhere in her vicinity, and if it did, those she deemed guilty would receive a scolding they would not soon forget.

"I beg your pardon, my lady", Éothain said, sounding astonishingly mild. Then again, after she had saved Éomer's life, the princess could probably order them around forwards and backwards and upside down as far as Éothain was concerned.

"I ordered some food, my lord. You must eat if you mean to get back your health", she said then, using a softer tone once more. Truly, it was a delight to listen to her speak.

"In that case, I will take my leave. The longer I stay here, the more tempted he will be to disregard his injuries and start making war plans", Éothain said good-humouredly. Éomer could hear him getting up and shuffling about.

"I do expect you to keep me updated", said the young king sternly as he directed his face to where he believed his friend was. He wondered how out of place he seemed to Éothain – if he looked as _wrong_ as he felt.

"Of course, my lord. As long as the Princess approves of it", his captain answered lightly and exited. Éomer sighed to himself; alone he might have had a chance against these two, but together they were indomitable.

Soon food arrived and the Princess arrayed it before her patient. While he couldn't see her, he did hear and feel her moving about him, swift and precise. He could only imagine how it looked like: a big, haggard man staring dumbly with unseeing eyes and a small, energetic woman operating as though she had all this planned out and more. Well, not that he knew about her much else than her clever little hands and her melodious voice, but somehow in the image he had of her she wasn't very tall or large.

Finally, she took his right hand and guided it to where the spoon lay – he was thankful she was not treating him as more helpless than he was.

"There is some stew right before you. This camp food isn't much but it should help you to get back your strength", she said, patted his good shoulder and left his side.

"Thank you, my lady", said Éomer, feeling out the table before him very carefully with his free hand. He found the bowl with his fingers and now having some idea where to aim the spoon, he began to eat. It was not easy, but with focus and time he was able to do it.

After a few spoonfuls, he decided the silence could do some talking. After all, he was likely to be spending a while before this bowl.

"I haven't yet had a chance to visit your home. What is it like in Dol Amroth?" he inquired, hoping the Princess was still close by, and he wasn't talking to an empty seat.

"I suppose... if you have seen any city in Gondor, you get the general idea. But my father says it's more Númenórean than others. You see, many of us Dúnedain feel like they are exiles in Middle-earth, still longing for a land that vanished long ago. But my forebears who founded Dol Amroth were particularly drawn to the home they could never return to. They were trying to preserve its memory in stone and recreate its splendour. It has been an Age since Elenna sunk, and yet there are still many among our people who long for it", she answered at length, her voice thoughtful. Then she let out a wry little laugh, "I always thought it was foolish. Middle-earth is our home, and though it's perilous sometimes, it's beautiful too. There is no going back to what used to be, and some things can't be changed no matter how much we try."

Éomer had already forgotten about eating as he marvelled over her words. Truly, this was not at all the kind of answer he'd have expected!

Perhaps she noticed his surprise, for she let out an awkward little laugh.

"I do apologise. I didn't mean it to come out like that... Amrothos is always telling me I make things too complicated", Princess Lothíriel said in a softer voice. Once more the fierce commander was gone and she sounded unsure.

"It's fine, my lady. I do not mind a bit of eloquence, as it's not always easy to come by in Rohan. In fact, you usually need to get someone drunk and make them sing if you want fair words", he told her and resumed to eating. The Princess laughed once more, but now the sound was warm and pleasant.

"My lord, I admit I rather regretted not being able to join my father and brothers when they travelled to your uncle's funeral. I have always wanted to see your land", she said with a hint of longing in her voice.

"Well, what was stopping you? All members of your family are welcome in Edoras", Éomer asked curiously.

"I do not doubt that, King Éomer. It's just... it didn't seem proper to impose my presence in your court when you were burying your uncle", she said. Again she sounded unsure, even unhappy.

Now he really regretted not being able to see. Where were these strange answers coming from? What could possibly make her say something like that?

"My lady, I cannot think of any situation where you visiting Edoras with other members of your family would be improper. Your own father saved my only sister from the fields when I had already taken her for dead. For this his entire family, including you, have my respect and regard. And you said you worked at the Houses of Healing during the Battle of Pelennor fields, and in that case you must have treated many Rohirric Riders. Such aid would have earned you a warm welcome in Edoras", Éomer stated firmly, hoping to put an end to her doubts. But while he didn't know the reason she was under such impressions, there was small chance of actually convincing her.

"You are kind to say that, my lord", she said quietly, her voice strangely diminished.

Deciding to lead her away from that particular topic, Éomer decided to ask, "Tell me, how long have you been a healer?"

"Half my life. I started to train as a young girl, and once there was nothing more the masters of Dol Amroth could teach me, I transferred to Minas Tirith. There reside the best healers in our land", she answered with a little more life, much to his approval.

"Imrahil let you go so close to the Shadow?" he asked and felt his brow wrinkling. Then again Imrahil had allowed her to come here, too. Granted, the base camp was close to the sea, where her father's ships patrolled, and no doubt there was some arrangement she could quickly remove from this place if any need arose. But still...

"He didn't like it, but he knew I was perfectly safe in the City. And I suppose he always wanted to make sure all of his children managed useful skills when the war would come. It also helped that I have some talent, and my masters convinced him that it would be waste if I didn't get a chance to study with the healers of the White City", Princess Lothíriel explained. Enthusiasm coloured her voice, and hadn't he witnessed her skill already, only by this statement would he have known how much being a healer meant to her.

"So I suppose there's not much you don't know about healing arts?" he asked her. To him it was mostly a foreign country, except for the times he had needed someone to patch him up. Otherwise, he rarely dealt with healers, as he never got sick, and Lady Scýne's ointment for sore muscles far surpassed anything he had ever been suggested by masters of his land.

"I wouldn't say so. It would take decades of study and training to become a master, and... and I know that is not my fate", she said, and in the middle of the sentence, her voice became that queer kind he already recognised.

"Then what is it?" Éomer wanted to know. He couldn't say he didn't envy the idea of knowing the path before one's feet and being sure of it.

"I do not know", the healer princess said and she let out a small sigh. The answer made little sense to him, but by now he knew to take it as it was given.

"Even so", he said slowly, wondering about these walls he kept finding, "you must be very brave, my lady. You stayed behind in Mundburg though the battle was nearing, and now you are here close to enemy lines."

"It is essentially very simple. All available hands were needed in the Houses of Healing at the time, and I knew my father and my brothers would be going to battle. Before Rohirrim arrived, there was not much hope that the City could endure the attack... I couldn't bear the thought of living with them gone, for they are all I have. I will not lie – those long hours helping the wounded were a nightmare and I doubt I will ever forget it. But after that, coming here seemed like an easy thing", Princess Lothíriel spoke. She sounded calmer again and more confident, although she was talking about being so close to war. The more they talked, the more Éomer felt he had come to meet a rare woman.

"Aren't you worried something will happen? What if this camp is attacked?" he inquired, though he knew it was an unlikely thing to occur while Elfhelm and Aragorn were keeping the bands of tribesmen busy.

"Why would I be? I have already lived through something far worse, and like I said, this is nothing compared to it. The camp is far enough from frontlines and our combined forces will keep the enemy occupied. And even if something should happen, at least one of Father's ships is waiting in the bay for commands, so help is near", she replied steadily. Éomer thought to point out that this was still a setting most gently bred ladies would find abhorrent, but by now it was rather obvious she would never see it that way. And thinking of it, as a healer she had probably seen enough of horrifying scenes to harden her against good many things.

The conversation did not end there. She told him more about Dol Amroth, and then he spoke of his own homeland in the north. They also talked about their families, and she shared some very amusing anecdotes of those men of her family he had grown to like and respect during the days of the War of the Ring. His words about his own family were rarely so merry – too much sadness lingered in the memories of those who were gone. But his voice lightened when the discussion turned towards Éowyn.

Eventually he had finished his meal, and the minute he put down his spoon for the last time, he could hear the Princess standing up. She had not got as lost in their conversation as he had.

"Well then. I think that's quite enough. You should lie down and get some more rest. We have tried your limits today enough as it is", she said briskly, and by now Éomer knew well enough he would only lose if he tried to argue with her.

"As you wish, my lady", he complied and gave her a smile. Even with his dreadful situation, her company had made him feel better.

"What? So now you are just going to do as I say without an argument?" she asked, sounding a little surprised.

"I have already figured out that argument would end with my yielding, but if it would amuse you, I can play the cranky patient again", he answered pleasantly.

The Princess snorted at his response.

"Has anyone told you what a charming sense of humour you have?" she asked dryly.

"All the time", he repeated her earlier words as another smile tugged the corners of his lips into a grin, "It's Éowyn's favourite complaint."

Now the Princess could not help but laugh out loud. He could imagine her shaking her head, much like his sister did when she was not sure whether to be exasperated or amused with him. The thought of Éowyn was warm and gentle, and though their years had been full of struggle and uncertainty, he could remember a time laughing had been easy with her. And now that world had hope again and Éowyn was happy, they could share joy more than they had shared grief.

"Just stay there. I'll ask one of your guards to help you back to bed. I don't want to risk the stitches quite yet", said the healer princess, trying to sound serious, but the warmth of her laughter still lingered in her melodious voice. He noticed because now that he did not have his eyesight, he had to count on his other senses much more than before. With a secret smile, he decided he would have to rely on them more from now on, even when he saw again.

Well, _if_ he saw again.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Another week, another update! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

It was fun writing this chapter and Éomer getting to know Lothíriel, and doing it without him actually seeing her. In fact, it was an interesting challenge for me from the start to try and write something from the POV of a character who is blind. It made me think much more about sound and feeling and smells. This is also what makes the budding romance so fascinating to develop.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments, favourites and follows mean more to me than I could ever tell you! :)

* * *

 **Katia0203 -** I'm glad you're liking it! :) The overwhelming wish seems to be that he's not blind forever, and it would indeed be a bad misfortune for him, like he thinks to himself. It would very seriously hinder him from his duties as a king.

It is correct Lothíriel being in this war camp is unusual, but there is a plot-related reason to it (which I obviously can't reveal here). Not to mention, the camp's location near to the sea and so being quickly accessible by Imrahil's ships probably has to do with why her father approved of her joining the campaign.

 **Jo -** Thanks! It's something fresh for me to write, too! :)

 **sai19 -** I'm afraid this won't be on the longer side, though I do understand the wish! I may have something in the works that could be just that, though. ;)

 **notyetanotheralias -** I hope you are enjoying it! :)

 **solar1 -** Thank you! I am happy to hear you like my stories so much.

 **Tibblets -** Thanks! :)

 **Anonymous -** Thank you!

 **outlawwoman -** Glad to hear that!

 **sailor68 -** That it was, indeed! :D

 **CarawynO -** I'm always happy when people say I've done well with characterization, so thanks for that!

 **vilaspa -** Thank you! :)

 **Nerdanel -** I get that special rush from publishing a new story, too! :) I admit, I have a soft spot for healer Lothíriel a well.

The lack of visual descriptions is what I enjoy about this story, too. It challenged me to think about my writing a bit differently, and I'm glad if the story is readable even though I'm not telling what everything looks like!

 **Luckylily -** I hope the story continues to please!

 **EStrunk -** Whether his sight will return remains to be seen! But it is Lothíriel indeed, and I admit I liked that little moment as well. :) I rather like Éothain in this one, too!

 **Rubandepluie -** Happy to hear that! I have most of this written already, and I imagine I'll be updating once every week. :)

 **JenB -** Thank you! It's great to hear I've managed to create such a convincing story that people can picture it so well!

 **Wondereye -** It wasn't pleasant for him, indeed!

 **Anon -** Thanks. :) And yes, it's occasionally enjoyable and interesting to take approach from that angle.

 **Kiiimberly -** Glad to hear that!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Princess Lothíriel stayed by his side for the better part of the following day, keeping him company and distracting him with stories of her home and the years she had spent studying the healing arts. She was also curious to hear more about Rohan, the people living on the green plains, their histories and their songs, and how these days after the War of the Ring went by in the northern land. Though at times he described his home in loving detail, and it might have exhausted her hadn't she been truly interested in what he had to say, the Princess listened to him keenly and made questions that showed she was paying close attention to things he said.

And the more they spoke, the more he wanted to hear. Éomer felt like he was lost in the sound of her voice and he was rather pleased when he was able to persuade her to sing for him. And even if the sound of her speaking was sweet, it had nothing on her voice when she raised it in song. Hadn't Éomer known it was a mortal maiden next to him, he would surely have believed that one of the immortal Elves was conjuring music in his tent.

Their talks were only interrupted by a nap she demanded him to take, and Éothain sitting with him for a couple of hours that she could go out and get some fresh air. But she returned by late afternoon, humming softly as she came. Éomer smelled fresh soap on her and some flowery scent he couldn't name. It had to be the sweetest fragrance in this entire camp.

So passed the day, and when night came and she told him to get some rest, he wondered about it to himself. For it was a strange thing to realise that he had not lost his patience yet, or tried to get out of the bed again. Somehow, the Princess had held him bewitched all through the day.

But be that as it may, and however well she had kept his mind off of his predicament, Éomer was still without his eyesight when he woke up the next morning. It was now rather his grim expectation than a stabbing fear on that moment he opened his eyes and saw nothing. But he also reminded himself again of Aragorn's words: there was still time.

Other than that, he noted he felt a little stronger than yesterday. The pain of his wounds was lesser today, rather making him anxious to get out of the bed and the tent. Although by now, he was well aware he was going nowhere if the Princess did not approve of it.

The thought had him scoffing softly under his breath. What an absurd thing this was! In any other situation, he would have given her a run for her money. It was rather surprising how much that idea entertained him. Perhaps soon he would be able to find out just how far her determination went.

Heaving a breath, he hauled himself up into a sitting position. His body didn't protest to the motion so much now, though he was still sore and there was a tightness about his wounds that served as a fair warning to take it slowly. Then he lifted his legs over the edge and placed them on the ground, and considering no sharp female voice had yet lashed out on him, he guessed he was alone.

Taking support from the edge of the cot, he pushed himself upwards and was glad to stand on his own two feet. While he didn't feel as steady as usual, his legs carried him and he felt like he was ready for a short turn outside.

Slowly he began to grope his way through the tent. Hands stretched before him, he sought for the direction he believed the table to be. It was strange and frustrating to make his way so unsurely, instead of his usual long and confident stride.

His hands hit the table and he traced his fingers to find its edge, feeling the wood in a way unlike ever before now. Had he ever paid such attention to the textures of objects around him? Only with the loss of his eyesight did he realise how many things he had taken for granted.

Éomer was groping around for the chair he remembered was close to the table when he heard voices speaking outside, and then there was a draft of air – he guessed it was due to the curtain serving as a door being lifted. He breathed in the fresh air and immediately craved for more, but a familiar voice quickly distracted him from this thought.

"My lord! I didn't give you a permission to get up!" Princess Lothíriel snapped, and then he felt her hands on his arms. He let her push him into the chair, but this time he wasn't going to give in.

"I'm feeling rather well this morning, my lady. I would appreciate it greatly if I could get some fresh air today", he said to her, amiable but firm.

The princess was quiet for a moment. Perhaps she felt his anxiety and need to get outside, because she did not immediately shoot down his wish.

Eventually she gave an answer, "I'll check your wounds, and if they are looking good, then I suppose we could take short turn outside after your breakfast. Will you promise to follow my instructions, my lord?"

"Of course. I simply need to get outside this tent", Éomer said, trying not to show how excited he was for her tentative promise. Quickly he added, "And I think it would be good for the morale for me to make an appearance, too."

"Well, I imagine you're not wrong about that", she admitted and began to roll open the dressings.

The routine was familiar now and she worked quickly and efficiently. Soon enough she confirmed what he had already felt: the injuries looked well enough and he could go outside for a short walk. She insisted to come along, but that was something he could easily agree to. Not only would he need a guide, but he also found he rather enjoyed her company.

But before they headed outside, Éothain brought him a change of clothes and the Princess was able to find him a comb somewhere. Like everything else, making himself presentable took much more than the usual few minutes while he fumbled around with the pieces of clothing and tried to fasten them neatly. He insisted on doing it himself, although Éothain hovered by so awkwardly that even the blind king could not miss the tension he emanated. Lady Lothíriel had exited the tent to give him some privacy.

Eventually, the uncomfortable little coughs Éothain kept making had Éomer speaking out loud.

"Old man, as long as I have the use of my wits and my hands, there is only one person in this world who may help me to dress, and that is my wife. Considering she has not yet made an appearance, I will do this by myself", he informed his captain and smoothed the shirt as well as he could.

"One day, your stubbornness is going to get you killed", Éothain muttered, and Éomer could very well imagine him rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"You have been telling that to me for years and yet I'm still breathing. One might take you for a nagging old wife, Éothain", said the young king as he quickly combed through his hair. If he managed to appear somewhat neat and tidy, it would hopefully reassure his men that their liege-lord would soon be in his usual strength and energy.

"Béma, I think you may be healing too fast, considering that thing you call a sense of humour is already back", said his captain, and though the man was trying to suppress it, Éomer didn't miss the amused note in Éothain' voice. But it was short lived, because the younger man suddenly felt his friend's hand on his shoulder, and the captain spoke again, "Are you sure feel good enough to go outside? This isn't just you wilfully ignoring your own well-being in order to prove a point?"

"No, Éothain. I feel strong enough. And I need to get out of this tent – get some fresh air", Éomer said steadily. He lifted his own hand to pat his friend's shoulder, but his aim was off and so the clumsy gesture landed against Éothain's cheek. It was easier than ever to forget that he was taller than most of his friends, except for Aragorn.

But they had been comrades for too long for this to become awkward, and so he continued, "You're no green lad, my friend, and you have taken a few wounds of your own in your time. Éothain, you know how important it's to get out for the first time."

"Aye, I do, but I just want to know you're not doing it too soon", said his second-in-command.

"Do you really think she would let me, if she wasn't sure?" Éomer asked. He didn't need to mention names for his friend to understand, and Éothain let out a wry little snort.

"No, I suppose not", the captain agreed. "I've never met anyone like her."

"Neither have I", Éomer said and smiled faintly. "Let's go, then."

* * *

Upon Éothain's order, the guards standing at the doorway of the king's tent lifted the curtain. The captain also told him to bow his head, which Éomer did, but the top of it still brushed against the canvas. He groaned to himself as he stepped outside. However, his annoyance was short lived, because now he felt the gentle warm wind on his face, and he could smell the sea and the dust and the smoke from cooking fires.

The young king straightened himself and for a moment he just breathed. He saw nothing but he felt _everything,_ from the salty sea air to the sun, the hold of stitches in his wounds and the sounds of a camp site which were so very familiar to him. What freedom this was after days of lying in that damned cot!

"My lord, how do you feel?" asked a soft, clear voice next to him. He hadn't realised she stood so close by.

"I am well. It's good to be outside", he said and smiled for the sheer joy of feeling the warmth of sun on his face. Granted, the climate in these parts was much too hot for his tastes, but right now he welcomed the heat upon his skin. It was something he could perceive and grasp even without his eyes.

"Of course. It's good for you to be moving a little, but we must remain careful", said the Princess.

"I'm afraid I'll need you to lead me. Otherwise, you and Éothain will probably have to pick me up from a lot of tents. Or a camp fire", Éomer pointed out, trying to inject his situation with some humour instead of the dread that this was now sitting permanently on his heart like a stone that grew a little heavier with each passing day. Whether she sensed what lay behind his words, he couldn't say.

"That would be most unfortunate, my lord", she agreed and took his hand. "Put your hand on my shoulder. I will steer you clear."

She then shifted, but he could still feel her hand. She guided his own to her shoulder, and Éomer felt the fabric of her gown, or whatever garment she used to cover her body. It was coarser than he had expected – perhaps she wore some kind of a garb that healers commonly used in Gondor. She didn't stand as tall as he had expected, and he could easily rest his hand on her shoulder without his arm growing tired.

"Ready to go?" she asked him. Her voice was like a beacon in the darkness.

"Lead the way", he urged her, eager to get moving.

The Princess started slowly and the pull of her shoulder was steady and gentle. She gave him time to figure out his feet and adjust the pace to his liking. It was somewhat disconcerting to be walking when he had no idea of what was happening around him or where they were going. But he anchored himself to her, trusting that she'd steer them straight and sure.

Having realised he could leave it to her to keep them secure, Éomer simply enjoyed being able to move and getting to breathe fresh air. He knew the sea was close by, and perhaps if she agreed, they might take a walk there tomorrow or the next day. Having been raised in Dol Amroth, she could probably tell him many stories about what it was like to live so close to the Great Sea. As they walked, she spoke to him and described things around: the tents, the people, the light of the sky and the view to the sea, where one ship was anchored in the bay.

"Are there any Rohirrim around?" he asked her when they had walked for a while. He hadn't been paying much attention to directions, and without the sounds of the camp around them, he could very well have believed she had lead him into the desert.

"Yes, my lord. There are both guards and injured warriors around", Princess Lothíriel answered.

"What do they look like? Are they well?" he wanted to know.

"I would say they are happy to see you up on your own feet. But a little worried too, I think", she said at length.

It wasn't difficult to guess why they would seem worried. The news about what had happened to him would be common knowledge by now. What if their king lived, but never regained his eyesight? How could a man so hindered lead them, be it in peace or war? Éomer frowned to himself, and then spoke once more, "Do you think I will see again, Lady Princess?"

"I do, King Éomer. I've never seen anyone who clings to their life as stubbornly as you do", she said, and her voice was confident and calm.

"Maybe so, my lady, but enduring pain and wounds isn't the same as wanting back something you don't know how to find", he pointed out, not quite able to keep the grimness from his tone.

"Is your life then worth only what you can see? You still have the use of your arms and you can walk. You are still strong and whole", she stated for her part.

"But I am the king of my people. How can a blind man be their lord?" Éomer asked, well aware of how burning his voice sounded. But he couldn't mask it when this was so close to his thoughts, and he was so afraid that he'd never see again. Béma, there were thousands of things he'd miss! Sunrises in summer, herders driving horses over the plains, spring in the Riddermark, meeting the _mearas_ on some green meadow, golden-haired lasses of his land, a fine horse galloping, clear cold nights of winter when the sky was like a great vault above the land, the smiling face of his sister...

The healer princess halted and he felt like she was looking at him.

"There are other ways to see, and surely a king can find someone to be his eyes?" she asked him, sounding as collected as ever.

"It's not that simple, Princess", he said, his frown growing ever deeper. This conversation wasn't going at all like he'd have expected.

"It's not? Maybe. But I would be rather surprised to see a man so stubborn give up so easily. You will find a way if you just try", she said, and for a moment he could just stand there and wonder about this young woman fate had tossed him with.

"Do you ever lose an argument?" Éomer asked at length, feeling a little exasperated.

She laughed, her voice like sunlight on clear waterfalls. The sound was like music to his ears.

"Rarely, my lord. But that's what you get after a lifetime of arguing with three older brothers", she told him brightly and patted his hand, which still rested on her shoulder.

"Aye, I suppose that would happen if you are siblings with Amrothos", Éomer said wryly, and she laughed again.

"You know my brother well, Sire", she said and moved her shoulder slightly. "Shall we go again?"

"All right", he agreed, and they began to move again.

After a few paces, he squeezed her shoulder slightly, and he inquired, "My lady, I would like to pay a visit to my horse. Do you think you could take us that way?"

She hesitated for a moment, but eventually she replied, "Very well. But after that, we'll get back to your tent. I think we shouldn't overdo this."

As requested, the Princess took them to the horse yard, where Firefoot was kept among other mounts. From afar, Éomer could hear sounds so familiar that he could easily picture the scene that he wasn't able to see. Most of the men here were Eorlingas, and he could hear their greetings as he passed with his guide. Briefly he wondered what they must be thinking, but then his healer stopped. She took his hand from her shoulder and guided it to the wooden post of a fence. Unbidden, a thought came: _Maybe I should ask her to be my eyes._

He shook his head against that entirely improper and impossible idea, and instead moved closer to the fence. The whistle he gave was a high-pitched, and then he called the name of his stallion. Soon enough he could hear the sound of hooves and anxious whinnying, and then soft equine lips were on his face. Firefoot made an anxious snorting sound, as though he had been well aware of his rider's injuries, and had worried over him just as much as any friend.

"Easy, boy. Easy!" Éomer murmured in Rohirric and ran his hands across the neck of his stallion. He was glad that Firefoot appeared to be in good health, though it would also mean he'd have to ask his esquire to take the horse for a long and hard ride very soon. It wouldn't be a good idea to let the animal build up too much steam, or the young king would have a very bumpy journey back home.

Firefoot moved his sensitive lips to search his rider's hand and sniffling it loudly. With a soft laugh, Éomer patted the neck of his horse.

"Sorry, boy. No treats this time", he said apologetically while his fingers were busy undoing a tangle he had found in the mane of the stallion. Funny, how things like that could come so easily even now.

"He's beautiful. What is his name?" asked her voice next to him.

"He's Firefoot, my chief mount. He and I have been to some very tight spots in our time", said the young king fondly. He had raised Firefoot from foal, and they had indeed seen many hard battles together. While Firefoot wasn't without a temper and training him hadn't been easy, the horse was also loyal and brave, and thanks to him Éomer was alive today. No lesser horse could have helped him through the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

The Princess let out a small sigh.

"My brothers wouldn't stop praising your horses after the war ended. I thought maybe they were exaggerating, but I see now I was wrong to think so", she said softly.

"Do you ride, my lady?" he asked her, turning his face towards the sound of her voice.

"I do know how, but I rarely get the opportunity", she answered. Then, as though half to herself, she added, "Animals usually like me better than people do."

"Horses generally have a much better taste than most people. And better judgement", Éomer said, hoping it would amuse her, though he didn't miss her tone or her words. Somehow it seemed that this princess had a truly warped image of herself. What had happened to make her this way?

In any case, she did let out a chuckle, and he could feel her hand on his.

"I will take your word for it, my lord", she said warmly. Whatever had been strange about her voice was now entirely gone.

"As you very well should. And as soon as I'm well enough, I would be delighted to take you out for a ride", he stated, hoping it wouldn't be too long he could get into the saddle again. And there was also the question of whether he would be able to see at that time.

"I would love to, my lord. But first you must heal", said the Princess, sounding determined once more. From the tone he knew she was already thinking of ushering him back to his tent.

"Indeed, my lady Princess", he said and turned fully towards her. Lifting his hand in what he imagined was a quizzical gesture, he inquired, "Shall we head back, then?"

"Absolutely, now that you have learned to be so amenable", Princess Lothíriel answered lightly, and she placed his hand on her shoulder.

* * *

In the current situation, all things took more time and effort than usually, and so it was already afternoon when they returned to Éomer's tent. Once the Princess had him seated at the table, she left to get them some food, so that the young king could talk with his captain. Éothain came with some messages from Aragorn, but there were not many new tidings; things were much the same at the frontlines, and their ploy of spreading a word Éomer had died of his wounds had not yet borne any tangible fruit. But Aragorn was hopeful and he believed the tribesmen were plotting something, as the activity of their hosts had increased. Hopefully, the older king's spies would soon get wind of what those plans might be – and if they had to do with the alleged death of King of Rohan.

Talking with Éothain and hearing the news from the battle lines, Éomer's frustration woke anew. How he wished to be out there with his friends, making plans and joining the battles! On the other hand, he had already noticed how this wish became dim with _her_ around. Somehow in her presence, he hardly even thought about the campaign or wanting to be an active part of it.

The Princess returned when Éothain had gone, and his esquire brought them food. Once more, she arranged everything before him and let him know where the plates and cutlery were, guiding his hands as though she had been doing this for years instead of a few days.

When they were eating, he spoke the question that had been hovering at the edge of his mind until now: "My lady, what did you mean when you said animals like you better than people?"

She didn't answer right away, and when her response came, it was delivered in an uneasy voice.

"I meant what I said, Sire. People don't like me", she replied slowly, sounding as though she didn't really want to say this out loud.

"But why? Why would anyone dislike you?" Éomer asked, frowning as he spoke. What could she possibly have done to earn such treatment from anyone?

"It's... complicated", she muttered at length.

"Is it? Well, I'm not going anywhere and the one thing I've got in abundance is time", he pointed out, once more frustrated over the fact that he did not have the aid of his eyes. Perhaps if he had been able to see, he could have spotted some clue on her face as to what was her meaning.

"Please, don't ask. I don't want to talk about it", she said, and she sounded like she was trying to be angry, but in her tone there was something too fragile to allow her such heated emotion.

In any case, Éomer realised he needed to retreat. If he kept making demands, it would only scare her away from him, and he had come to appreciate her company too much to let that happen. And she was never going to trust him if she felt cornered with him.

"Very well, my lady", he said, softening his tone as much as he could. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you. But for what it's worth, I do like you, Princess."

"I like you too, Sire", she answered, soft again and without an attempt to drive him away with anger. He smiled and she continued, "Thank you. Your discretion means a lot to me."

Perhaps that was the way to understanding her – and to winning her trust. And trust was what he would have to build, for as of now he wanted nothing as much as to learn to understand this unusual young woman.

* * *

Evening came, as it ever did, and the healer princess left him after telling him good night. Éomer did not say he wasn't feeling particularly tired, or that he would have liked her to stay for another hour or two. He reminded himself she was sacrificing enough of her time to spend with him as it was, and she was probably already growing tired of his haggard face and sightless eyes.

But as he lay down in his cot and tried to clear his mind, he soon found himself too restless to fall asleep. She kept sneaking back into his thoughts, and he felt like he was trying to push away wisps of smoke.

How odd it was, that he didn't know what she even looked like, though she had been his tireless companion for these past few days. Yet he had an image formed in his mind, made up from bits and pieces, though he had no idea if it was at all close to reality. What would it be like to see her at last?

He turned to his side, and then turned again, and his mind kept racing. Those of her kin he had met had dark hair and grey eyes, and such he imagined her having as well – long, shiny tresses and bright glance that held wisdom and compassion. He thought of her brothers and tried to imagine their features set in a female face, but somehow the picture refused to form in his mind's eye. Men of her family were tall, but she was more than half a head shorter than Éowyn; this he judged by how high her shoulder had stood from the ground when he had rested his hand on it to let her guide him. Was she small-framed also, fitting in one's lap in a wonderfully snug way?

And he knew her hands, the clever, small fingers which had grown so sure in her healer's trade. His own clumsy ones would never be capable of such fine precision, or have the skill of fixing broken things like she did. Her voice, the loveliest sound he had ever heard from mortal lips, was securely pressed into his memory. He knew her smell, the clean fragrance of soap and some herb he didn't recognise. And there had been subtle strength in her shoulder, and her stride had been steady as she had guided him. It seemed that he knew many things about her, but still she kept escaping and eluding him in ways that went beyond seeing.

The camp outside was quiet, except for occasional nicker from a horse or soft words spoken between night guards. But he felt no peace in these familiar sounds; his wounds itched, the air was too warm, and each minute felt like an hour. He was trapped inside his own head while a faceless little princess danced about his every thought.

Voices speaking softly at the doorway of the tent caught his attention, and then he heard the canvas rustling. Someone had entered.

"Who's there?" Éomer asked as he sat up, abruptly wishing he had something sharp near his hand, even though he knew his guards wouldn't allow foes to enter.

"It's just me", a sweet voice answered, much to his surprise. What was the Princess doing here at this hour? "I... I couldn't sleep. I thought to come and check on you."

"Well, here I am", he said. He couldn't say he wasn't delighted that she had come. At the sound of her voice, his earlier restlessness was utterly gone.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you", she said, sounding even more unsure now. It was a strange change to the confidence she showed most of the time. Well, at least when he didn't ask too personal questions.

"My lady, I couldn't sleep either. I would be perfectly happy to keep you company", he told her and smiled, though he didn't know if it was too dark for her to see it.

He heard the whisper of her skirts as she moved, and then he felt her presence next to the cot. She was so close he could have reached to touch her, and he was still thinking about this when suddenly she sat down on the edge of the bed. The side of her thigh pressed against his.

Princess Lothíriel had seen him in various states, from the weak and delirious thing covered in bandages to the somewhat decent man of today, she had touched his naked skin numerous times while she changed the dressings of his wounds, but it had never felt as intimate as now that she sat next to him. Even her acting as his eyes had not been like this. A shiver ran over his skin and he felt like there was a thousand invisible threads between them, tense and warm and urgent.

"Is everything all right? Are you well?" he asked her, immediately regretting how hoarse his voice came out.

"Yes, I am. It's just..." she answered at length, hesitation clear in her words.

"It's just what?" Éomer asked her. How he hated that he couldn't see her right now! He ached to know what was going on in her mind, to catch at least some hint from her face, but he had no other clue than her voice and her words might give.

"I was just thinking of what will happen when you are well again. You'll get back to frontlines, no?" she asked softly.

"I expect so, yes", he agreed. Yes, he was still anxious to get back to his usual strength and health, even if the whole matter hadn't even occurred to him today. Frowning to himself, he inquired her, "My lady, what is it really?"

"Sire... do you think you could come visit me in the House of Healing some time? I know you are very busy, and your time is better spent with King Elessar, but... if it's not too much of an inconvenience..." Princess Lothíriel answered, her voice half a whisper.

The ache in his chest grew even greater. There was something so lonely and sad about how she sounded, and he desperately wanted it gone.

"Of course it's not an inconvenience. I would love to visit you, my lady", he reassured her gently. How he wanted to reach to touch her! But he kept his hands to himself, because even if she was a healer, she was also a princess. Then again, wasn't there an invitation to friendship in her voice, meaning that the usual rules of propriety were now blurred between them?

She made a strange little sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and he found himself shifting closer to her.

However, he never presumed to do what she did next.

There was a gentle hand on his cheek and without thought, Éomer leaned against it. Then the nothingness he saw burst into brilliant flame when her mouth touched his, meeting him with sublime tenderness. In that moment, all he knew was the softness of her lips, her trembling, her taste teasing just at the tip of his tongue, and the sensual warmth of her... instinct was telling – _demanding –_ to throw himself into it, to her, but how could he spoil a moment like this by simply surrendering to desire? For though she was wise beyond her years, her hesitating and uncertainty implied she hadn't done this before, and he wasn't going to be the man who ruined a woman's first kiss.

So he made his answer gentle and sweet, focusing on her and liking the way she felt, the way she responded. He let her take her time, tried to keep himself from growing impatient or aggressive. She made a soft sound and he wasn't sure if it was in shock or delight – or both! – and she moved even closer.

He couldn't keep his hands unmoving anymore. One he placed on her waist and with the other he meant to trace her hair, but he found it neatly done... it was in a braid around her head like a circlet, and it felt like silk under his fingers as he traced it. He felt the back of her head and then her neck, soft but proud, like the swan that her House kept as their emblem.

Éomer decided he could have let this go on for the entire night, or the entire week, or forever. The tent around them and the desert had ceased to exist, and all he wanted, all he needed was to prolong this moment. Yes, he would go to visit her, he'd visit her every day until she accepted him, because she was the most intriguing woman he had ever met.

It ended as suddenly as it had started. Once again she made a sound, but now it was almost like a lament. Then she pulled away from him in a sharp movement, leaving his hands empty and wanting. Where had she gone? Why had she stopped?

"Lothíriel -" he rasped, bewildered and dizzy and frustrated to have such a kiss interrupted so soon.

"I'm sorry – I shouldn't have done that – I shouldn't be here", she stammered before he could say anything more, and he heard the rustle of her clothes as she hastily moved away.

"No, don't -" he tried to speak again, and moved his legs over the edge of the cot, but again she cut his sentence before he could speak it.

"I'm sorry", she repeated, sounding almost anguished now. "I'm sorry."

And then he heard the moving of canvas, a few hasty words, and she was gone.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update! I hope you enjoyed it. :)

I surely had fun writing this chapter, especially the ending. I guess things are moving forwards in a rather quick way compared to my other stories, but this is not supposed to be as my longer fics, so stuff may happen at different speed. I think for our favourite couple it's not really too fast - the time they have spent together has already been rather intense, and personally I'm not against a romance that grows quickly.

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **MissCallaLilly -** Thank you!

 **Tibblets -** It would appear so, yes!

 **EStrunk -** He's rather fun to write, too! :) I'm afraid I can't answer what is her deal yet - the story will have to show that!

I thought it would be his chief concern - that he can't be useful and do what he's good at anymore.

 **Wondereye -** Glad if you like it!

 **sailor68 -** And I haven't done anything like that before, so it's a fascinating perspective to write from. As to what Lothíriel is hiding, the story will have to tell that!

 **Anon -** All I can say right now is: wait and see! :)

 **zuntiz -** I am happy if I could cheer up your day! :)

 **Jo -** Thank you!

 **Doranwen -** I am glad to hear that! And thanks for leaving a comment! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sleep hardly came to him that night.

When Lothíriel had gone and left him alone in the tent, Éomer had sat there for a while, half seriously considering the possibility of going after her. But how to find her when he couldn't see?

Eventually, he decided the best course of action was to wait until morning and give her a chance to calm down. She would come to check on him, like she had every day until now, and then he'd find out what had happened. He'd ask her if something he had done had startled her away... and if it had felt as right to her when they had kissed as it had to him.

For it was more than obvious now that she was not merely a healer to him, not even a friend – she was becoming something he hadn't really had before now. While he had had his share of lovers and brief romances, Princess Lothíriel was... she was someone he felt a connection to on a deeper level. She was someone he could commit to, even for the rest of his life. And he felt it in the easiness of their conversations, the joy that spread in his chest at the sound of her laughter, and the profound desire he had found in her kiss.

But he had yet to find out if she felt any of this, and so Éomer waited for the rest of the night, dozing off only for a couple of hours close to dawn.

He was awake long before the usual time the Princess came to see him. Deciding it was a good chance to prepare to confront her, Éomer got up from his cot and groped around in the tent until he found a basin and some water. Washing took effort and time, and he felt helplessly clumsy as he fumbled with soap and water and then tried to find something to dry himself with. He muttered curses under his breath all through it.

Even so, Éomer was able to make himself decent in time and when the sounds of the camp outside grew louder and he surmised her arrival grew imminent, he took seat on the edge of his cot. He didn't know what would happen once she did come, but he was hopeful. She was the one who had initiated the kiss, wasn't she? Surely it meant she too felt there was something more growing between them?

He shook his head, bewildered at his own thoughts. Béma's balls! One might have thought he was some green lad from one-horse village who has never wooed a woman!

It was only moments later that he could hear voices at the doorway of the tent, and someone stepped inside.

Sitting up straighter and praying for a miracle to let him see, he faced the way she had come.

"Princess Lothíriel?" he spoke her name tentatively. He wanted to cross the space between them, stand before her and perhaps kiss her again, but that would just startle her – especially if she regretted last night. He had to let her know she could trust him.

But the voice that answered was not hers, and abruptly he was thankful not to have done anything so rash as going and sweeping the newcomer in his arms like some lovesick fool.

"My lord, I'm afraid the Lady Princess cannot attend to you this morning. My name is Laindir. I've been sent to check on you in her stead", said an unfamiliar male voice, much to his surprise and dismay.

"Is she all right? Has something happened to her?" Éomer asked in concern, rising up on his feet.

"Nothing has happened, Sire. She is perfectly well", Laindir answered calmly.

"Did she send any word to me?" asked the young king. He was growing more and more confused and he couldn't understand the reason she hadn't come. Had he offended her somehow? Had he been too eager?

"I'm afraid not, Sire. Shall we, then? There are other injured I must see to today", said Laindir, sounding like he was anxious to get this conversation over with. It was beyond frustrating, but Éomer could sense this was the best answer he could get out of the man. So he suppressed a sigh and took seat again to let the healer do his work.

Unlike when she tended to his wounds, there was no conversation between the Rohir and the healer. Wryly he noted this Laindir was not as quick with his hands as she was, and the man often muttered to himself under his breath. Éomer quickly grew restless and impatient, but he tried to endure it in silence.

Eventually, the healer spoke once more.

"Your wounds are healing well, Sire. I believe you will soon be in your usual health", he stated, almost making it sound like this state of matters was in fact his doing.

"Of course. She's a rather good healer, isn't she?" Éomer said, and for whatever reason he felt proud of his princess.

"I suppose, Sire", Laindir answered warily. "It is good for her that she has some skill."

"What do you mean?" asked the young king, frowning at the unexpected words. But if he had hoped for a clarification, he was not to receive one.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I'm speaking out of turn", replied the healer, and his voice almost sounded startled. At least Éomer assumed so, and last few days he had been listening to peoples' tones much more than one normally would, so he did not think he had misunderstood it.

"Well, do continue now that you have begun", he urged the man, but his authority wasn't quite what it usually was, being stripped to his waist and sitting here as a patient in recovery. What a frustrating thing it was, knowing how easy it would have been to get the answer in a normal situation! Then again, in the normal situation he would never have been content to sit back for as long. He would have discovered a way to make the Princess talk, and she would have found avoiding him much harder than this.

"My lord, I really need get going. I must see to the other wounded in the camp", Laindir said, even more awkward than before.

The young king suppressed his groan and dismissed the healer. It sounded like Laindir left in a hurry, or so he judged by the hasty steps and rustling of clothes. Éomer snorted to himself and rubbed the back of his head. Maybe Éothain could help him out and seek out the Princess... really, if she thought he was just going to give up, she was sorely mistaken.

However, it was not long before even Éothain turned out unhelpful. The captain entered the tent and brought some breakfast with him, and no later than having placed the tray before his king, he began to talk about messages that had arrived both from Aragorn and from the north. There were several reports from the royal council, as they were intent on keeping the young king updated on tidings from the Mark. Also, Éowyn had sent him a letter, which was a pleasant surprise. He saw his sister too rarely these days and while messengers frequently rode between Edoras and Emyn Arnen, the road was long and letters lingered on the way for many days.

Receiving these messages and tidings was sure to take a good part of the morning, Éomer knew already: while his blindness continued, it fell on Éothain to read them for him. The captain did command that skill, albeit a little uneasily. He had learned to read close to his adulthood, and only because if he hadn't, he would have had to give up his hopes of becoming a captain one day. Even more important it was now that he served as the King's second-in-command.

In any case, it took time and effort for them to get through the messages and reports. As Éothain's penmanship was even more halting than his ability to read, Éomer would have to get a scribe to write down his responses, unless his eyesight should return soon. The thought remained his desperate hope.

But when they had at last finished the task around afternoon, Éomer could speak the wish that had been at the back of his mind since the moment he had woken up. Leaning back in his chair, he turned his face where Éothain was sitting and gathering the pieces of parchment and scrolls.

"Éothain, send someone to bring me the Princess Lothíriel. There is something I should talk about with her", he said to his friend.

"Right away, Sire", said the captain readily and he left the tent for a moment. Upon his return, he said, "Déormund is on his way to fetch her."

"Thank you", said the young king, smoothing his beard idly in an attempt to make it a little less wild. Even under his fingers it felt out of control. Maybe she had run away because she had accidentally looked at him and taken fright?

"You like that girl a lot, don't you?" Éothain noted the obvious as he took seat again.

"Aye. She's... unusual. She intrigues me", said the younger man and smiled faintly.

"Oh, unusual she is indeed. You don't even know half of it", the captain said wryly.

"What, Éothain? What aren't you telling me?" Éomer asked and felt his brow creasing. Why did it feel like everyone was tiptoeing around him whenever she was mentioned? Or that even she tiptoed around herself? What a strange young woman she was!

"Lad, I know better than to speak out of turn here, because don't think I haven't noticed she's the first woman you show serious interest in ever since you became king. We both know half of Rohan is holding their breath while they wait for the moment you choose a bride. And I think you ought to do that without any prejudices and in your own terms. That's the only way you'll ever be satisfied. So I'm not getting any more involved in this than I already am, my friend. Your eyesight will return and you will heal, and then you can make your own assumptions", Éothain answered, friendly but determined, and the other man already knew this was all he would get out of his comrade.

"Éothain, for the man who's supposed to be my right hand, you can be supremely unhelpful", Éomer said with no small amount of frustration. He felt like he was stuck, and not even his friend was going to help him out of it!

"Well, sometimes saying nothing can be more helpful than talking", said the captain sagely. Éomer harrumphed, rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. Usually, he would have been much more stubborn than this. In fact, he was giving in to other people much more than he remembered doing in a long time. However, there was little he could do as long as he was so at disadvantage in every respect.

It was then the door flap was lifted and he heard the clinking of chain-mail.

"Sire, the Princess Lothíriel told me to come back and inform you that she is not able to arrive at this time. Some new patients have been brought into the camp and she is busy tending to them", said the voice of Déormund, much to Éomer's disappointment. So, she _was_ avoiding him now. Yet her reason to stay away was entirely valid: why should a healer so skilled waste her time sitting with a man who was well along in his recovery? He couldn't just go and demand her to leave those who needed her aid more than he did.

In a weary voice, he dismissed Déormund and slumped in his chair. Once more, the nothingness in his eyes became as vast as before, and as hopeless. Somehow, without his noticing, Princess Lothíriel had found a way to fill it with light. Without her it was darker than ever.

"Did something happen with her you haven't told me about?" Éothain asked, and whether it was the sharpness of his question that made him answer or just the general listlessness that come to the still blind king, Éomer couldn't decide. Either way, he decided to just tell his friend how things were.

"She came to my tent last night. She kissed me", he answered, and now as he spoke of it in daytime, it felt almost like a dream.

"Oh", Éothain said, not even sounding particularly surprised. As a matter of fact, when he continued, Éomer could have sworn his captain was currently gloating like the most self-satisfied idiot in the world, "In that case, I think she'll be back."

* * *

Considering he felt rather strong today and had nothing but time in his hands, the King of Rohan decided other Rohirrim in recovery might appreciate a visit from their lord. He hoped it would be good for morale as well, to let his countrymen see him moving about in the camp. So, when he had got dressed and his esquire had tidied up his beard, Éomer left his tent for a turn in the Rohirric fractions of the camp.

Like the healer princess had yesterday, Éothain acted as his eyes, leading the way as the young king kept his hand on the captain's shoulder. It was not quite as smooth way as with _her,_ as his friend didn't seem to be able to find a pace that suited them both, and his descriptions of things around them were not as detailed and lively as hers.

The recovering warriors appeared glad that he came to meet them. Those who were well enough spoke to him eagerly about the battle, but some only had strength to reach for his hand or forearm and hold it for a moment. And they spoke of the Riddermark far in the north, and his heart ached, for among them he met some who were so badly injured they were not likely to ever see their homeland again. He knew then he was lucky to have lost only his eyesight; even if he wouldn't see the rolling hills of the Mark and the vast sky when he went back, he'd still get to breathe the clear air of his homeland.

Even so, most of the lads seemed to be in fairly good spirits and many of them shared his anxiety of getting back to saddle. Their curiosity wasn't lost to him: they too wondered whether he would heal completely, and what would happen if he didn't. But the young king kept up a confident attitude. It wouldn't do to let the morale of his men to collapse while this campaign continued.

The Princess made no appearance that day. Éothain reported some wounded had indeed be brought into the camp in the morning, but Éomer could not help but self-consciously wonder how much it was because her help was needed, and how much because she was avoiding him. Of course, there was a possibility he had got it all wrong and she was trying to spare him the humiliation. Maybe the kiss hadn't meant as much to her as it did to him. On the other hand, he was certain no woman kissed a man like she had him unless something more was going on.

Éothain lead him back to his tent close at sunset, and Laindir made another appearance to check on him, though at this point it felt rather unnecessary. But he kept his complaints to himself – as an unmarried king without an heir, certain anxiety towards his well-being was unavoidable.

The captain kept him company for an hour or so and they had supper together, but the young king did not feel particularly hungry. His appetite was even further reduced by how much he had to concentrate in order to eat tidily and not spread food in his beard or on his shirt. The mere thought made his heart sink.

Éothain noticed, of course.

"What is it, my friend?" he asked gently. He was seated across the younger man and Éomer could easily picture the look on the face of his captain.

"What do you think will happen if I don't get back my sight?"he asked bluntly. It was no use to try to avoid his friend's questions.

Éothain didn't answer right away. Éomer could feel his eyes on himself, or was he just imagining it? Maybe he didn't know anything at all about what was going on. It could be he was just making everything up, even _her_ reactions to him.

"We'll figure out something. It's not that bad, old man. Your body isn't broken, nor is your mind gone. Surely that's more than enough to work with", said the older man in a gentle voice.

"Sometimes I'm not so certain", said Éomer quietly. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair.

"You were there with those wounded men today, my friend. Some of them will never get back home. But you will! You'll get to go back, meet your sister and your friends. Your life hasn't ended yet, Éomer", Éothain stated most solemnly.

"Hasn't it?" Éomer asked quietly and tossed his spoon on the table, all appetite gone now. "What use can I be? Rohan needs someone strong to lead, and I can't even get out of my tent without someone showing me the way! If I don't heal, then there is just one possible outcome. I'll be a burden for others for the rest of my life."

"You don't know that", Éothain said. He spoke in a strong, firm voice now. "You don't even know _if_ this is permanent. Aragorn told me it can take many days, maybe a week or more. It hasn't been that long yet. You just need to be patient."

The young king sighed again and muttered something affirmative, but he did not feel truly convinced. How could he, when dread held his heart like in chain?

Éothain tried to get him to eat some more, but not with great success. After that, he sat with his liege-lord for a while, trying to speak of pleasant things. While Éomer appreciated his friend's efforts, the captain simply did not have _her_ gift of igniting the darkness and numbing his fears.

Eventually the older man got up and told his friend to get some sleep. But Éomer did not feel particularly tired. Rather, anxiety lived in his bones and he burned to be away, to ride with his men and join Aragorn and Elfhelm at battle lines. It was twice as hard to endure now that his body was getting better, but he remained without his eyesight.

Restlessly, like a beast in a cage, he wandered around in the tent. Three paces the centre was the table, and two paces right from his chair was the basin. Tracing his way from there, he came across a pile of objects he had not thought much about until now. Metal was cold under his fingers and he felt the engravings: the blazing sun, the horse emblems, the smooth surface of the horsetail... the helmet had been made for him when he had become a Marshal. Groping around, he found the rest of his gear, resting on a stand and waiting for the day he could don these things on again. From the days he served as the King's lieutenant, he could remember spending such lengthy periods patrolling the wild borderlands that this armour had started to feel like a second skin. How naked and exposed he had felt upon returning home and resuming to a lighter attire!

Next to the armour, Éomer found what was perhaps his most treasured object. Even in blindness, Gúthwinë felt reassuring and reliable in his hand as he gripped it. Could he still fight with this weapon if his eyesight didn't return? Could he learn to do it without seeing? However, it occurred to him it didn't matter whether he could learn or not. If the Southron's poison left him permanently blind, his council, his friends and his guard would make sure together that he'd spend the rest of his days wrapped in wool and tucked away some place safe. And each year that passed, he would grow a little more regretful he had not simply fallen on the battlefield.

He searched for the table and the chair with his other hand, and finding the seat, he settled there, his sword on his knees. It was a good, trustworthy weapon, fit for using it horseback or on the ground with a shield on his other arm. He remembered how he had admired it when his father had carried it on his side, and how cold he had felt when it had been placed in his hands. But as he had stared at the gleaming blade, a resolution had grown in his heart. He would learn to wield this sword and one day, orcs would run in fear when they heard the name Gúthwinë.

Éomer sighed and leaned back in his chair, though he still kept his hands on the sword. The angry days of his boyhood seemed far away now, and so did the life of the Third Marshal, that young ferocious man who had been so obsessed with proving he wouldn't end up like his father. Kingship had suited him ill, he had first thought, but in this moment he felt more lost than ever.

Darkly he imagined what his life would be like if his sight did not return. Stumbling around in Meduseld as he tried to memorise the halls and corridors, the pity of his friends and household when they saw their king walking into things and clumsily falling over objects he did not see on his way, and trying and failing in the attempt to rule the land... what could he do for anyone if he was not able to see? He'd always need someone by his side, to read the maps and the reports and messages for him, to describe everything in minute detail... to whisper in his ear when he held audiences and met people, just like Gríma Wormtongue had whispered to his ailing uncle. Soon people would be murmuring among themselves and saying that Éomer King had become but the mocking image of Théoden in those last days before Gandalf had restored him.

How right they would be. For what could he expect other than to be locked away in the Hall and coddled like Uncle had been in Wormtongue's game to control him? They wouldn't let him train anymore, because the danger of him getting hurt was too great. And if he wanted to go for a ride, then someone would have to come along to lead his horse. Surely they would make him give up Firefoot – how could he manage a spirited stallion without his eyesight? He would not be riding to any more wars, but send Elfhelm in his stead to lead Eorlingas. And soon enough the enemies of the Mark would come knocking, because they would want to test him... see how weak he had become.

He groaned. The best thing he could do, for himself and for Rohan, was just give up the crown and let Éowyn take over. She would hate it of course, for she loved her beautiful new life with Faramir too well. But what other choice there was? Maybe she'd agree to act as a regent until he had sired a son and had fulfilled his last duty. And he would spend the rest of his days as a broken, damaged thing that could not truly _live._.. imprisoned not only by his blindness, but also the shame of what had become of him. For hadn't the people of the Mark hailed him as their new dawn? The young lord of promise, who was supposed to restore the land and heal the wounds of war? What could he heal if his own injury could not be mended?

He might have spent the entire night there, caught in this endless cycle of brooding thoughts and memories and expectations of days to come, hadn't something happened just then. There was a noise from afar, and it might have gone unnoticed by him had he not been blind for a few days. But right now, his functioning senses were alert in a way unlike ever before, and after over ten years of war, Éomer knew alarm when he heard it.

Sword in hand, though it was still sheathed, he hurried the way he knew the doorway was. Wasting no time, he barked orders: "Folcred, go and get me Éothain. Déormund, hurry up and go find out what that noise is!"

"My lord, we shouldn't leave you alone", said Folcred, one of the two guards posted at his tent - it had been so quiet in the camp, only two men were on guarding duty.

"I can take care of myself. Get moving! If the camp is under attack, I'd like to know now and not tomorrow!" he snapped. No doubt Éothain would throw a fit once he heard Éomer had been left alone, but right now he didn't have time to worry about his own skin.

"Aye, Sire!" the two Riders said and he could hear them hastening away.

The night air was too warm and it was thick with tension. Standing there and listening, Éomer heard the unmistakable sound of a battle and knew the camp was indeed under attack. They had used the cover of the night to get close and as far as Éomer's opinion went, this area had not been as frequently patrolled as he would have liked. It had to be the tribesmen of Harad, perhaps hoping for an easy victory, or to cause the forces of Rohan and Gondor to split ways. He didn't think they would mind catching some civilians, healers and craftsmen, as hostages.

As the shouting grew, so came a dreadful question to his mind.

 _Where is_ _Lothíriel?_

* * *

Éothain had done his best to maintain an easy mood with his liege-lord, but Éomer had been too steeped in his brooding and doubt to contribute to the captain's attempts. Time and again a grimace had returned to his features when the ever-present thought had returned to him. It was odd to regard Éomer when his eyes had an empty, staring look in them – so unlike the keen, forceful gaze that held the fire of his soul.

The captain was afraid, too. He had been so from the moment his king had woken up and said he couldn't see. This was a problem for all of them and Éomer wasn't wrong to worry about how well he could fulfil his role without his eyesight. If he did not regain it... well, it would be a severe blow for all of them.

But he tried to remain hopeful. Aragorn had said it might not be permanent, and so far Éomer had handled the situation much better than Éothain had expected. It was no wonder to him now why that was. Somehow, the Princess Lothíriel was able to turn the King's mind from the fear, and the minute she turned her back...

If nothing else convinced him, _this_ did. So he made up his mind and instead of seeking his own tent, he began to make his way through the camp, stopping by-passers as they came and inquiring after the healer princess.

It was surprisingly easy, though perhaps someone like her just didn't vanish into a crowd. Soon enough Éothain knew what way to go: she was tending to some wounded at the south side of the camp.

He found her in a small tent that was less than two fathoms. She was on her knees next to an unconscious man, whose bandages she was changing. Her back was towards Éothain, but the way she shifted a little upon his entering revealed she was not wholly absorbed in her task.

"My lady", he greeted her softly and bowed his head, even if she did not see the gesture.

"Captain", she responded. "What are you doing here?"

"I was wondering why you didn't come to see Éomer King today. He was disappointed that you didn't visit him", said Éothain as he clasped his hands behind his back. It was dim in the tent, but he could see her fingers halting on the man's bandages.

"Did he send you?" she inquired bluntly.

"No, my lady. But I did come in his behalf", he said truthfully. He cleared his throat and stared at the back of her head, "Do you think you could stop by tomorrow?"

Princess Lothíriel did not answer at first. She remained motionless and her eyes were fixed on the man she was tending to.

"Did he tell you what happened last night?" she asked him. No one had ever sounded as bland as she did then.

"Aye, he did."

"Then you must understand why it is better for us both if I stay away from him", Imrahil's daughter said softly. Did he just imagine it, or was there the faintest tremble in her voice?

Éothain let out a small scoff.

"Do you really think he would let anyone to make that decision for him? He'll come looking for you as soon as he is able, and he won't give up till you agree to speak with him. That I can promise you, my lady", he informed her dryly.

Now the Princess said nothing. Perhaps she didn't know _what_ she should have replied to such a statement. No, it was not likely that stubborn Rohirrim often chased after her. Sudden wave of sympathy went over the captain when he realised how bewildered she must be feeling. Éomer was probably the first man who was treating her like an ordinary woman.

"My lady", he said then, speaking in gentler tones than before now, "I understand if you feel confused – you would not be the first one when it comes to him. I've been his friend since we were lads and he still keeps finding ways to confound me. But my lady Princess, he's going through so much right now, and I can see how scared he is that he won't see again. He thinks he's useless without his eyes and is probably already starting to believe his life has no meaning if the damage is permanent. I would help him if I knew how to do it, but I'm just a soldier."

Still she said nothing, and so Éothain continued, "You, however... while you were there, he wasn't despairing. It's like you brought light into that dark where he is now. My lady, if you are the one who can help him to survive this..."

"What are you saying, captain?" she asked at last. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"I just think... he could use some hope right now. And I don't know how you do it, but you seem to give it to him. I only ask that you don't abandon him when he needs you the most", Éothain said slowly. He felt pleased at how it came out. This had been a difficult thing to speak of, especially knowing Éomer probably wouldn't appreciate him talking so straightforwardly about this matter. But on the other hand, he could tell Princess Lothíriel was sensitive and tactful. Her opinion and regard for her royal patient would not suffer from anything Éothain could say.

At last she moved to look at the Rider, and her eyes fixed on his. He shivered.

"You really think so, Captain Éothain?" she asked him in that soft, melodious voice of hers. Among mortal women Éothain had met during his life, no other spoke like Imrahil's daughter did.

"Aye, my lady", he confirmed and offered her a smile.

It almost seemed like a tentative smile graced her face, too. But he did not get a chance to make sure, for a noise from afar suddenly startled him, and in an instance, he knew why that was. The sound of battle was all too familiar to him.

In alarm he looked at the Princess, and her face betrayed the same dread that had come to him.

"My lady -" he began hastily, but she did not allow him to finish.

"What are you waiting for? Go and find our king!"

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Don't look at me, I love my cliffhangers! ;)

This was an interesting chapter to write, especially Éomer's musings towards the end. It's the first time he really begins to think what life will be like if he doesn't get back his eyesight. I was even a little surprised at how melancholy his thoughts became. On the other hand, I don't see how they could be otherwise. Being a man of action, he would resent the idea of becoming useless and being perceived as so by his friends and people. But like Éothain has noticed, there is something - or someone - who gives him hope.

Originally, this chapter did not have that bit with Éothain at the end. But while I was editing it, I felt like the chapter was lacking something, and then I just started to wonder what Éothain would be thinking at that particular point. Also, it provided me with a way to include Lothíriel in this chapter, even though she is avoiding Éomer.

In case you're wondering why she's trying to keep away from him, all questions will be answered in due time!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **eschscholzia -** Glad to hear you think so! I can't decide if it's good or bad, and reviews seem to differ. But on the other hand, I don't have plot enough for a long fic, so things have to happen sooner rather than later.

I admit, I am now curious as to what your theories are! :D

 **Doranwen -** Oh, that is very much my intention! :D And yes, he is more fascinated by her than he even realises!

 **Wtiger5 -** Indeed they are! But what has made Lothíriel this way will have to be answered at other time. ;)

 **Jo -** I am happy to hear you are enjoying this so much! :) I imagine Éomer has intentions of being quite stubborn, once he is more capable of seeking her out. But we'll see how this latest turn of events impacts everything.

 **EStrunk -** I must admit I can't help but enjoy all this curiosity towards her. :D I didn't realise how indulging it can be to write such a mysterious character.

Anyway, even if the kiss was unexpected, I hope it was enjoyable to read!

 **Katia0203 -** As a writer, I'm glad to hear that! :) I guess I see how the kiss was unexpected, but hopefully this chapter answers why it had to take place where it did.

As for what her problem is, and whether Éomer will see again, will be answered in due time!

 **Catspector -** Happy to hear you liked it! :) As a writer, it is indeed interesting to develop the romance this way where all he feels for her is based on their interaction.

 **MissCallaLilly -** Great that you enjoyed it! I think Éomer is too stubborn and too intrigued by her to just let this go. But we'll see what happens now that conflict is at hand!

 **Nerdanel -** I can't answer whether he'll be blind forever or not - the story will have to answer that! But in any case, I thought it would be interesting to have him wonder about the possibility of never being able to see again.

 **Wondereye -** That is what Éomer wonders about too!

 **Anon -** Good to hear that! The more I think of it, the more I feel fast pace suits this story.

I think even if Lothíriel wanted to tell him the truth, she just wouldn't be able to do it - not in that particular situation at least. And you are quite correct that Éomer is treating her unlike anyone before him!

 **sailor68 -** Yes, things are heating up! :) It was interesting to write him feeling his way with the help of other senses than eyesight. I admit it's such an unusual perspective, I'm going to miss this story when it's over!

 **alia00 -** Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

For a brief second, terror held Éomer motionless. But as the noise grew, he snapped out of it. The knowledge of what he needed to do was clear and bright in his head as brilliant ray of light.

He was moving before he even knew it, stumbling away from the tent. Where was Lothíriel? Did she know what was happening? Would she be able to get away safely? She had lodgings with other healers, that much he knew, but what if she wasn't with them? What if she was out there still, tending to the wounded and close to the point of attack? And even if he knew nothing else in this world, one thing was absolutely clear: he couldn't let her get hurt.

"Lothíriel!" he shouted as he groped the space before him, carrying his sword in one hand and using the other to feel his way. "Lothíriel, where are you!"

He collided with two, maybe three people – they were running away from the battle and they nearly knocked him down on their way. But he was able to retain his balance, and with curses he pushed them from himself.

"Out of my way!" Éomer growled and made forward again. His heart hammered in panic and need, making it harder to concentrate on where he was going. Once, he almost ran straight into a tent. He stumbled, too, falling on one knee; his left hand scraped the ground while the other gripped Gúthwinë tightly. The palm of his hand was scratched open. With a curse, Éomer pushed himself upright again, wiped the wounded palm against his breeches and groped his way with the injured hand.

More people came his way and he felt like he was fighting against a torrent. The entire camp seemed now to be in a state of chaos and disarray, and he knew right this moment Éothain was looking for him in growing distress. But he was hopelessly lost in the endless pathways of the tent-village, searching for the woman who was so _real_ to him despite fact he didn't even know her face.

"Lothíriel! Where are you!" he kept shouting, his voice carrying over the noise even now. No answer came, and perhaps his search was in vain – perhaps she already was gone, lying dead in a pool of blood. Oh, the dear, foolish girl! Why had she come here, away from the safety of her home? Why had Imrahil let her so close to danger? His heart was sick with the idea of her death.

But then, as his mind was growing cold and grim with the fear of losing her, he could suddenly feel a small hand grasping his own. And he heard her voice, full of dismay and disapproval, and yet he could only think of how it was the most beautiful thing in all the world: "Éomer! What are you doing here alone!"

"I was looking for you, of course!" he answered and tugged at her hand, pulling her close. He hardly noted the sting of the superficial scrapes on his palm. A small, female body hit him softly and she made a strangest little sound. Oh, the relief! She was safe and sound, and he would die before harm came to her!

"Oh, I'm going to kill you!" she cried in frustration, and she was already pulling at his hand when he was still relishing the joy of having found her uninjured. Determinedly she tried to get him moving, "Come along, we need to get you somewhere safe! Where are your guards, anyway?"

"I left them", he simply stated, at which she made an outraged sound.

"Of all the foolhardy, impossible Rohirrim -" she was groaning, when she suddenly halted, and then cried out, "Éomer, to your right!"

His eyes might be dark, but his body and mind knew what was what. In a quick motion, he unsheathed his sword and lifted it to a parry, and he both felt and heard the clash of steel when the enemy sword came in contact with his own. What happened next was a sheer stroke of luck, though it was also helped by the directions she shouted rapidly to him. His arm fell rather into instinct than anything else, and somewhere beyond the echo of her voice he felt like he could almost hear his old master in arms bellowing commands. And somehow he was able to dodge the attacks of the enemy he couldn't see, until the Princess cried in surprise; the contact was no more and the reason to this revealed itself in the form of a mighty shout.

"Morgoth's balls, Éomer! _What do you think you're doing?!"_

Éothain had arrived. And unless the young king was entirely wrong, he had just taken down whoever it had been with the intention of ending the Lord of Rohirrim.

The Princess appeared to be of a similar notion: "How could you be so stupid?!"

She was gripping his arms and he got the impression she rather wanted to shake him. But he could only feel relief and in the middle of it, he had to fight himself from just grabbing her and kissing her right there.

"Lothíriel, I will gladly put myself between you and their swords, if I can spare you from getting hurt", he answered, and his words were directed both at her and to his captain.

She made a sound between outrage and frustration, and then he felt a pair of arms hugging him so tightly that a more fragile man might have snapped in half. He returned it with his free arm, as in his right hand he was still holding his unsheathed sword. She felt warm and petite against him, like a trembling little bird.

"Don't you understand, you foolish man? Don't you see I couldn't bear it if something happened to you because of me?" she told him, her voice an anguished little whimper.

"And I couldn't bear it if something happened to you because I failed to act", he said for his part and held her more tightly against his chest. The gesture was clumsy, but there was a deep sense of joy and contentment for having her there, and he did not wish to let go of her. Suddenly, he realised he still had something to live for, even if he never saw again.

In that moment, all the world could have burned around them and they might not have noticed it. Fortunately for them, Éothain still had his wits about him.

"Béma, you two. Now is not the time for this!" said the captain and he grabbed his king by elbow. "Let's get going, lad. We need to get you somewhere safe."

"Éothain, I am perfectly capable of -" Éomer started, but then he felt a gentle little hand on his cheek.

"Please, Sire. You can't put yourself in harm's way while you are still recovering", she said, her voice so much softer than Éothain's had been, but it was far more effective than any demand his captain had ever made to him.

"Very well", Éomer grumbled, bewildered at how easily she had broken his resistance. While he was still thinking of this, Éothain was already leading him away, pulling him by elbow and doing it with very little grace.

In less than five minutes, the captain had them whisked away to the western side of the camp, where horses were ready and waiting along with a few Riders. One of them also took Gúthwinë from him, though he was reluctant to surrender it. But what could he do with it, anyway, except swing it around and unintentionally hurt someone? Being able to hold back the villain before had been a stroke of luck that was unlikely to reoccur.

The sounds of battle had grown a little quieter, but Éothain was not leaving anything to chance: they would take the King and the Princess to the ship waiting in the bay, in case a quick escape was necessary. Éomer didn't know which he hated more: being handled like he was valuable but fragile goods or the fact he couldn't be in the centre of action, leading the men against the foes attacking the camp. But at least Lothíriel was safe and she remained close by. Now that the danger was over, he was well aware of how reckless he had been to go and look for her while he couldn't see. But so were the men of his line, and for him, there was no choice between trying to find her and standing back if there was some peril threatening her.

It wasn't a long way to the shore, and there a boat was always waiting along with a few men from the ship. They had heard the noise of the battle and were standing by as the King's Guard arrived. There was a brief argument between Éomer and his captain as they negotiated the best course of action, but eventually the young king agreed to let Éothain stay behind, while he and Lothíriel would wait on the ship for the situation to calm down. If such need arose, Éothain would signal the ship to get away, in which case they would be taken to the safer waters. But the boat would head back to the shore, and if there was no need for escape, then the captain would send someone to give the King of Rohan a report on the facts considering the battle.

Grudgingly Éomer let himself be helped into the boat and he took seat there. His earlier relief was now gone and instead he felt dour and disappointed. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been forced to stay behind while others went forth to fight and face danger.

But as he sat fuming there, someone sat down next to him and he felt her hand on his own. Well, if he was being sent away like a helpless child, at least he would have good company.

"No one here doubts your courage or skill, Sire. But sometimes bravery is knowing when you need to stand down", she said in gentle tones.

"I know that. It's just not easy for me to put my own life before others or simply run away from battle", he muttered in a low voice. Sometimes, he truly hated the fact he was king.

Then again, he would have had as little business participating the fight if he had still been a Marshal. For as long as he saw nothing, he was a liability to each man that stood with him. It was one thing to endanger his own life – entirely another was to cause harm to others.

"I understand that. I have witnessed the same reaction in my brothers for so many times, you see. Back before the War of the Ring, they would often go to campaigns, either to aid my cousins or to fight corsairs. But Father always insisted at least one of them should stay back. So if the worst should happen, there would still be at least one of them left to carry on the line. Amrothos especially used to throw some very ridiculous tantrums when he was forbidden from going", she said to him, her tone gentle and understanding. The boat was moving now and the sailors rowed in strong, swift pulls. The air was a little cooler out here, but it was very still, and occasional shouts carried from afar. Was the battle over now? What had taken place, precisely?

She continued to speak, a little more wryly now, "And you see, I'm standing back, too. After that battle they will be needing healers in the camp. But one of the reasons Father agreed to let me come here is because I promised to depart at once if there was any hint of danger."

At first he meant to say it was not the same thing, but fortunately he realised how wrong that would have been. She felt the call of duty just as well as he did, knew the frustration that came with having to stand back when she could have helped. And she was just as brave as any man to be here.

Éomer sighed and listened to the night, but nothing he could hear answered to the questions in his mind. He only hoped the camp wouldn't be smoking ruins by morning.

He turned towards the woman by his side. Considering neither of them were going anywhere, he supposed this was as good a time to find out what had happened between them as any. And perhaps her voice could help him to bear the anxiety of not knowing the outcome of the battle back at the camp.

"My lady, why didn't you come to me today? Did I offend you somehow last night?" he asked her quietly.

"I... I didn't come because I was embarrassed. I was sure you would consider me a bad woman, the way I just threw myself at you", she whispered at length, and he had to lean down closer to hear her. She added in an even quieter voice, "And you made it too good when we kissed."

"Lothiriel", he spoke her name, warm and careful and he felt such tenderness for her that it made him almost dizzy. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I wanted it as much as you did. After everything you have done for me, nothing you could do would make me think badly of you."

The Princess let out a strange little sound and she gripped his hand tightly.

"I know that I yelled at you, and this doesn't mean I approve of it, but... but thank you for coming to look for me", she murmured, and then he felt her lips on his cheek. Briefly he closed his eyes and marvelled at the simple but sweet gesture, and how _pure_ it felt.

"I had to make sure you were safe", he stated and squeezed her fingers.

They reached the ship soon enough, and she put his hand where the rope ladder was waiting for them. He started to climb and felt a tightness about his injuries that revealed he was not yet fully recovered, which rather irritated him. Once he was on the deck, he reached his hand towards the way he had come, and then he could feel her taking support from it when she climbed over the railing. She kept her hand on his and he was thankful. Otherwise, he wouldn't have known what to do with himself. He didn't particularly enjoy ships, but without his eyes, it was twice as unpleasant.

But as ever, she anchored him.

"My lord, welcome on board. I am Captain Calphion", said an unfamiliar male voice to his left and he turned his face that way.

"Thank you. Has there been a signal yet?" Éomer asked anxiously.

"Not that my lookout has spotted. But we are standing by and ready to set sail at a short notice", replied the man.

"Captain, do you have a cabin the King could use? He was injured some days ago, and I would like to check his wounds haven't opened", the Princess put in, once more in that sharp, determined mood that she took as a healer.

"Of course, my lady. Please use my cabin", the captain answered.

The Rohir thought about protesting, as he'd rather like to hear the news as soon as there were any, but he decided he had tried her patience enough for the night. So, after insisting the captain to send someone to him if anything happened, he let the Princess lead him away.

Although he couldn't see the place they entered, Éomer still felt cramped when they moved from outside, and he could tell the corridors under the deck were not meant for people of his size. Lothíriel was considerate enough to tell him when to lower his head and when to watch his feet. The air around him was a less than delightful mixture of sea salt, unwashed bodies and tar. He only hoped they would not have to stay here for long.

"Watch your head", she warned him, but though he bowed low the top of his head still brushed the door board. Then she pulled at his hand and guided him to sit on the edge of a bunk.

"Can you take off your shirt for me while I find a candle?" she asked him.

"Aye", he answered and as he pulled the garment over his head, he wryly wondered if the second implications of her request occurred to her at all, or if she was too jaded as a healer to even regard males that way anymore. How many men had she seen in her time, stripped and bare before her eyes? Did they often act discourteously towards her and make improper suggestions simply because she was a young woman? It seemed more than just a little unusual that Imrahil approved of her practising this trade – and travelling to such unsafe locations to tend to warriors. He still had to get a satisfactory explanation on that.

Frowning to himself, he thought about the battle at the camp once more. If only he knew what had taken place! Had those left to defend it managed to thwart the attack? What were their losses?

"Don't fret, my lord. There wasn't anything you could have done", the Princess spoke suddenly. He wasn't surprised that she had guessed what he was thinking. She seemed to notice and know much more than people usually did.

"Rationally I know that. But being like this is simply against my nature", he responded with a sigh. Her hand touched his shoulder gently.

"You cannot carry the world on your shoulders, no matter how hard you try", she said to him gently, and he couldn't think of any way to respond to that.

He guessed she had found her candle, as she began to work on him. First she cleaned up the scratched palm of his hand – of course she had noticed that, too. When it was cleanly wrapped, she began to undo the bandages around his healing injuries. While she worked, she hummed a soft little tune that somehow slowed the pace of his racing thoughts. Her fingers were light and sure when she wrapped the bandages open and she examined the wounds. He closed his eyes, more out of habit than of need, and focused on how her touch felt like. Slowly, he began to feel calmer and quieter, and while his concern did not vanish, it became easier to endure.

"You are lucky, Sire. It doesn't look like that bit of nonsense back at the camp opened up anything. I would hate to have to sew you up again in this light", she stated after a while, her voice pleased.

He harrumphed at her choice of words but said nothing.

"What about your eyes, my lord? Have you recovered any ability to see at all, maybe shapes or colours or light?" she asked him then.

"No. It's still as dark as in the beginning", Éomer answered and his mood grew quickly grim again.

"Don't despair. Like I told you, you still have the use of your hands and legs. You can still walk and ride, feel and hear the world around you, find love and have children..." Princess Lothíriel said. Towards the end of her sentence, her voice grew soft and thoughtful.

"Maybe so, but what can I do with my hands when the only thing I know is fighting? And what woman would want such a helpless man? Who can never see her, or stand by her side as her equal? Who can't keep her safe?" he asked her, and he wondered if she knew just how close to his thoughts these things were.

"There are other things, my lord. There is listening to her and showing her that she is valuable, that her opinions have weight in your world. There is letting her be _herself_ around you _._ And there is holding her tightly and coming to look for her even though she has acted like a fool", she answered heatedly, and her words took him aback. But while he was still trying to process what she had said and collect himself, she continued, "I beg your pardon. That was not appropriate at all."

"Lothíriel..." he managed to speak, and his voice was hoarse and low even to his own ears. Right then, he felt like some truth was unfolding in his mind, but it yet refused a coherent form. How was it possible that it was as though he was seeing things more clearly than ever, while his eyes were blind?

"I'm sorry. I should let you rest. It's very late and we are both tired", the Princess said, words tumbling out hastily. And then, before he could respond and tell her how truly unsleepy he was, she hurried outside.

Éomer frowned, once more wishing he could have chased after her without the likelihood of getting hurt and lost. What caused these strange bouts of insecurity?

Maybe she was right, and it _was_ a better idea to get some rest. But be that as it may, tomorrow he _would_ find out some answers.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's an update for the new week! I hope you enjoyed it.

I was wondering, what if there was some kind of a dangerous situation, and Éomer didn't know where Lothíriel was? Well, he'd go after her, because that's what he does, whether he has the use of his eyes or not. I think Éothain is not very happy with him right now. But maybe it also shows to her that her patient cares about her more than she could ever have guessed!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **The Solaris -** Thank you for your comment! Well, I imagine Éomer is getting so impatient he's going to get some answers very soon. Anyway, it was interesting to read your theories. :)

Also I'm glad to hear the story doesn't feel too rushed! This was really the only way I could write this fic, and I hope to reveal the reasons for soon.

Great that you liked Éothain's POV! I'm pretty pleased about that bit, too. :)

 **eschscholzia -** Happy to hear that! It definitely introduced another perspective to the situation.

It's such an unmapped country for him, thinking what could happen if he doesn't get his eyesight back. But I felt like he would not dare to be optimistic about that possibility - not until this chapter, when he realises there may still be something worth living for.

 **EStrunk -** That bit was a little painful to write, too. But it was fascinating as well, because I got to explore what a character like him would feel in this situation.

I actually think Éothain may have given her some hope she didn't have before, even if he doesn't realise it himself!

As for the timeline, if I got my maths right, it should now be the sixth day after his injury.

 **Jeraly -** Thank you! I'm glad to hear you think so. :)

 **Catspector -** Well, what can I say? :D Every now and then you need to go down with a bang!

 **ckara -** I'm glad you liked it! I enjoyed writing it, too. :)

 **AHealingRenaissance -** Oh, we'll get there - eventually! Or maybe Éomer will be blind forever, who knows? :D

 **Jo -** I hope this chapter satisfies, at least!

 **Anon -** Happy to hear you liked it. :) Also I'm thinking Éomer is already so fond of her that the truth about her would have to be pretty horrific to repel him!

 **Doranwen -** In that case, my work here is done! :D

 **Guest -** Thank you! I am flattered to hear that! :)

 **sailor68 -** What can I say? I'm a sadist when my muse gets going. :D Fortunately, they are safe for now, but we'll see what happens in the morning...

 **Nerdanel -** We'll see about that! ;)

 **JenB -** Hope this chapter delivers, then! Of course, I'm always happy to hear any theories, if you are willing to share them!

 **Himmelstaenzerin -** I am happy to hear you are enjoying the story! It's interesting to write too, because the POV of a blind character is something I haven't tried before. I am working as fast as I can, though I understand the impatience one feels when waiting for an update.

I'm afraid the truth is not out yet, but Éomer is definitely getting to the point where he just needs to find out what is going on.

Please don't apologise for any language mistakes! English is not my first language either and my stories have their mistakes too, so I'd never presume to judge others for not speaking/writing flawlessly. The important thing is that you _are_ using another language and don't let the errors hold you back!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Though Éomer was aware his body could have used the rest, his mind did not allow him such luxury. It was too full of racing thoughts that had to do either with _her_ or the battle back at the camp.

No signal came that night, and eventually the boat returned from the shore. A messenger sent by Éothain was brought to captain's cabin and he gave the young king a preliminary account of the night's events.

It had been Haradrim tribesmen indeed to attack the camp, but those Rohirrim and Gondorians left to guard the camp had driven them away. Their numbers had not been great and it looked like they had expected less resistance. Some losses had fallen on the defenders, but they were not as severe as Éomer had feared, and riders had already been sent to Aragorn to ask for some backup. Though the interrogations were still going on and hopefully more would be discovered, at the moment it looked like the attack had been motivated by the presumption that the King of Rohan was dead.

Éomer was eager to get back to land, but the messenger quickly crushed that idea. According to the man, Éothain insisted the King of Rohan should stay on the ship at least for the night, until it could be made certain there was no chance of another attack. And it was late already: the best he could do was to try and get some sleep.

This he did try, but the hours of night were long and he was without peace. The rocking of waves was not soothing, the constant creaks and sounds of the ship startled him every now and then, and he kept listening for light steps that did not come.

But like last night, he did doze off for a couple of hour before the dawn. Then he fell into dreams that were dark and murky, and he was running in an endless maze, looking for something he couldn't find.

In the morning, the sound to wake him up were the cries of gulls. It was a most annoying noise, he quickly deemed, and he wondered how anyone could listen to it for long without going mad. _Not a single sea-longing bone in your body, is there, horselord?_ Erchirion had once asked him humorously after a lengthy debate which topic Éomer couldn't even remember anymore. Did _she_ love the sea, like her brother? If she did, it might be difficult to try and win her...

The thought brought him back to full wakefulness. What was he thinking?

He opened his eyes. Light streamed in through small windows, so bright it hurt his eyes. His first instinct was to cover them, but then he realised what was happening. He saw light!

Éomer sat up quickly on his bed and looked around. He was in a wide cabin that appeared to be located at the stern of the ship. Furniture was sparse but well-made and he knew the hand-print of Gondorians carpenters. To these he paid only a brief notice, and he looked at his hands as though to check they were still the same as the last time he had seen anything. His hands! He could see! Béma, he could see!

What he did next would probably have looked like the fit of a madman to anyone who might have arrived to this scene right now. For the following five minutes, all he did was just _look_ at things while laughing in relief and joy. He lifted objects and turned them around in his hands, he kept looking down at himself as though a man who has woken up in someone else's body, and often he rubbed his eyes half because the light still hurt somewhat and half to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He was so absorbed by his joy and relief that he scarcely noticed the door opening. But then he saw movement from the corner of his eye, and he turned to look at the one who had just entered.

Her form was small and elfin, like he had already surmised. The top of her head would just about reach his chin and her body seemed as though it was composed of light and wind and feathers. Like her brothers, she had dark hair, and her mouth reminded him of Erchirion. But she also looked worlds away from them, and that was because of her eyes.

In fact, her eyes were the most striking thing about her, and they were nearly enough to make one forget everything else. They were almost too big for her face and they were mismatched: one was grey, the other was brown. He had never seen such eyes before in his life and for a minute he felt startled, half-seriously wondering if the person standing at his door was not of mortal kindred. Due to the way others spoke of her, he'd have expected her to have some sort of a horrific scar – now he saw the matter was hardly as simple as that. There was a strangeness about her that didn't just come from her mismatched eyes. It was something about her air, the way she held herself, and even her expression. She had this odd feeling about her as though she was not meant to exist in the world, and yet she had simply willed herself to _be._ When she looked straight at him, her gaze was keen and discerning and it made him feel like she was inside his head, reading his thoughts as easily as one reads an open book. Though Éomer could not put it in words, he could now see exactly what made her so alien in the eyes of other people. He felt her influence too: it was like she intimately understood his deepest musings. No doubt most people did not like the sensation at all.

But him? He did not feel uncomfortable. It was still _her._ He had no secrets he'd want to hide from her, and from the moment Aragorn had first assigned her to look after the injured Rohir, he had been bared before her in a number of ways. And when he met her eyes, he saw more than just the mismatched pair that beheld the world with unnervingly acute perception. For clear as day she revealed deep loneliness and sadness, the longing of one who has never felt like they belong anywhere, and yet these things had not embittered her. She was _kind._

"You can see?" she asked in a quiet little voice, snapping him out of it. Why did she sound so scared?

"Aye. I woke up and could see again", Éomer answered, and then he took a step towards her. "Let me look at you."

She flinched noticeably and made a move as if to turn away, but quickly he added, "Please."

Princess Lothíriel froze where she stood. When he approached, she looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. How different she acted now, compared to the calm, steadfast healer who had stayed by his side and saved his life! What he didn't understand why she would be scared. He had not given her any reason to be, had he?

He halted to stand before her. How small she looked when they stood face to face! And she trembled like a little bird, and her unexplained trepidation made her eyes look even wider. Such strange eyes! These were something one could get lost into, perhaps become bewitched by them, too. Was it odd that he did not find them unnerving? That this _feeling_ about her did not repel him? This unusual woman before him was hardly the fairest he had seen in his time and she did not possess the charm of the ladies of Gondor, but never had he encountered anyone as fascinating and enchanting. What he saw now only seemed like the logical extension of what he had heard in her voice during those long hours he had been blind.

Éomer reached his hand to her gently, cupping her cheek in his palm. There was the urge to simply pick her up to ease the difference in height, but he didn't want to scare her. So he bent himself down to kiss her.

The Princess let out a gasp and startled back.

"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.

"I was thinking of carrying on from where you so rudely left us the other night", he said, taken aback and a little embarrassed. Had he truly interpreted wrong all that he had felt between them? But he forced that away for the time being and he bowed at her, "Please forgive me. I didn't realise it wouldn't be welcome."

She made a strangest little sound and looked away from him.

"It's not that, Sire. You needn't apologise for anything. I was just... are you sure you can see?" she asked him doubtfully.

"What makes you think being able to finally see you would make me stop wanting to kiss you, my lady? I was under the impression I had rather made my intentions clear to you", he pointed out, and she didn't answer anything at first.

"But my lord... are you sure it's a good idea? Maybe I'm not... maybe I bring bad luck", she muttered in a strained voice, struggling for the words.

He blinked. What was she talking about? What could possibly make her believe that?

"My lady, who has made you think something so absurd?" he wanted to know, and she cast a pained look at him.

"Can you not see me?" she asked him, sounding like she wanted to come across as belligerent, but the attempt was mostly half-hearted.

"Of course I can. And yes, perhaps you would stand out in a line of ladies of Gondor. But I fail to understand what does that have to do with anything", Éomer said patiently and crossed arms on his chest.

She sighed and walked slowly over to the table by a window. In an absent-minded gesture she rested her hands on the surface of it and looked down, her face troubled.

"If you truly do not see... I'm not sure how to explain", she muttered, staring hard at the table.

"Try me", he urged her, pushing his hands into fists to keep them from reaching for her again.

Lothíriel was silent for a time, and he was as well – he wasn't going to speak, if there was the faintest chance that she was going to actually speak honestly and not run away. But when she did begin, her opening question took him aback.

"My father has never mentioned his wife to you, has he?" she asked quietly.

"No, not that I recall", Éomer answered and stood where he was, though he'd have liked to cross the space to her. However, he wasn't sure she wanted him close right now.

She glanced at him and he wondered at the grief he saw on her face. This young woman truly was full of mysteries!

"That's because she was the love of his life and I killed her", she stated in a hard voice and looked down again.

Once again he blinked, not understanding what she was talking about. He couldn't imagine her harming anyone, least of all her own mother!

"Literally or figuratively?" he asked at length, frowning as he spoke his question.

Princess Lothíriel sighed and he could see her hands becoming fists on the edge of the table.

"My aunt used to say she was the most beautiful woman in Belfalas, my mother was. She came from an old Númenórean line, and many young men sought for her favour. My father did too, but she refused him for years. But then he came to see her one last time and bid her a good and happy life, and that's when she finally accepted him", she spoke quietly at first, but as she carried on, her voice grew stronger. "They were very happy, and it's said the court of my father was never more beautiful than it was while she lived. Some even thought it rivalled the Steward's court in Minas Tirith. And they had three strong sons, and their life couldn't have been better or more beautiful. People loved my mother, Sire, from the courtiers to the common folk. It was her gift – everyone who knew her held her in high regard."

She moved abruptly away and bowed her head. For a moment she stood silent, and then went on again.

"Then my mother conceived again. From early on it became clear it would not be an easy pregnancy like with my brothers... she was sick all the time and she couldn't sleep. I was killing her", the healer princess said, and now her voice was almost shrill. "Then a night came when her waters broke, and... and after ten hours of agony, I was born. And to live, I killed two people: my mother and my twin sister."

She sighed again and stared down at the floor, speaking softer now: "Aunt once said my little sister was a beautiful babe, strong and healthy-looking. She would have lived, hadn't I got stuck in the birth canal. Mother demanded them to try and save us, even if it would kill her. But they could only save me – a small, scrawny thing that wouldn't stop screaming for the next three months."

"I was not a lovely child, certainly not the kind that would have amended the death of my dearly beloved mother. I didn't grow strong or tall like my brothers, or beautiful and forthcoming like my mother. Instead, I was a small, quiet creature with unsettling eyes. Father never said such thing and he treated me well when I was growing up, but I think he rather hated me on those first months of my life", she said, looking troubled as she spoke those words. But her expression became bitter when she went on, "And my nurse surely did hate me. She had loved my mother and saw me as the reason she was gone, and... I suppose she was a little superstitious, too. There was talk I was not a normal child, and some went even as far as suggesting I had come to be because of the Enemy's ploys. That somehow Prince Imrahil's beautiful little daughter had been switched and instead what he got was _me._ "

"That's absurd", Éomer managed to speak out loud, though his statement did not only apply her last sentence, but practically everything she had said until now.

"Maybe so", she said and smiled wryly. "But I suppose it was easy to believe, considering how I looked like. People usually take one look at me and decide it's best to avoid me. And... it didn't help that sometimes I just knew things."

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking at her with a slight frown.

"I knew one day that one girl would go after her ball that had fallen from the bier to the sea, and that she'd trip right after. Once, I told a boy, a Swan Knight's son, that his father wasn't coming back from the campaign. When I was four, Father's favourite hound went missing, but I was able to tell my brothers where they could find him", she answered and shifted away once more. "The list goes on. Eventually, I learned it was better to keep it to myself. Rarely I even spoke to my father and brothers about it. Not even when I met my cousin Boromir for the last time and knew that I wouldn't be seeing him again."

"So you think you don't belong, and you bring misfortune? You believe it's your fault that your mother and sister died?" he asked her, wondering at how very warped her image of herself was. That she saw these things hardly surprised him at this point – it merely seemed to fit in with her character. Hadn't he heard about the gifts of the Dúnedain? And wasn't he familiar with the stories that there was some Elven blood in the veins of the Amrothian line? With this heritage, foreknowledge such as hers was hardly something he'd doubt.

"I know how it sounds", she said defensively and he saw her shoulder's tensing.

"Lothíriel", he spoke her name gently, and he took a step towards her, though he still kept some space between them to help her feel confident, "I do not think there is evil in you, nor do I believe that you somehow bring bad luck no matter what visions you see. Yet even if it were true, you chose to make something good of your life. You became a healer, and that is more than a fair number of people I could name can say."

She bowed her head and seemed to grow smaller, and when she spoke, it was in a strained voice.

"Why do you say these things?" she asked him, staring at her feet. But he marvelled at how one person could hold such strength and vulnerability at the same time.

"You saved my life. You nursed me back to health, acted as my eyes and brought light to darkness, and you have stayed with me through these past few days, keeping me from going mad. Béma, I have lived in your voice while I haven't been able to see! Since I first woke up with you by my side, you have only shown me the strength and goodness of your character. And even if there was some curse upon you, I would brave it anyway", he told her and stepped closer again. Now he was an arm's width from her, and he wanted to cross the remaining space, but still he held himself back.

"I don't understand. Why would you brave it?" she asked him, her hands tightly wound before her, and her form so tense that he almost feared she would burst from it.

"Because you are the most fascinating woman I have ever met", Éomer stated simply. It was nothing more and nothing less than the truth, for in no other had he found such monumental mysteries to be explored, or spirit to be admired. Yes, her life had left her with insecurity and doubt, but he didn't think they were greater than her integrity and character. Latter she had been born with, the former she could forget if she was given a chance.

Princess Lothíriel groaned softly, and then she came to him. She wrapped her arms about his neck and jumped, and instinctively he caught her, holding her by the back of her thighs so that she wouldn't fall. And her mouth on his was just as sweet as he remembered, and though he had kissed many women before her, _somehow_ this felt right in ways that went beyond his understanding. She had saved his life indeed and following that act, with her mere existence she had suggested possibilities he had never considered until now.

"Tell me, what brought you here? Why did you join this campaign?" Éomer asked when he had pulled back to breathe, though he still held her up and her arms remained around his neck. Perhaps she truly was made of light and wind, or he was simply too exhilarated, but he didn't feel like wearing down.

"I came here because... because since I was a child, I've also seen _you._ At times, I just... I see into your life. I saw you when your parents... well, you know. And I knew the man you would become even when you were still a boy. I saw a crown upon your head when you rode into your first battle, and watched you fight on the Pelennor Fields. I never understood, not until I walked into your tent and finally perceived you with my waking eyes", she explained slowly, staring at him with wary eyes. At the same time, he felt bewildered, but on the other hand, it seemed to make a startling amount of sense.

But before he could ponder on this for long, she continued.

"I had no name for you before I saw you lying unconscious in that cot. But that moment I knew. For about a month after my father had first spoken to us about this endeavour, I had this dream, and... and I knew then that if I didn't travel with our Swan Knights here and lend my hand as a healer, the King of Rohan would surely die", she answered, and that was the thing that took him aback. She had seen him die?

She frowned and looked down, "I couldn't let that happen. I know what you have done for Gondor and for my family. My father, two of my brothers and my cousin Faramir would all be dead if Rohirrim had not ridden for our aid and fought on the fields of Pelennor. And so I convinced my father that he needed to let me come. He was not pleased, but he knows about my visions and trusts them. If there was the smallest chance that preventing me from coming would be your doom... well, he could not allow that."

"And then I actually met you, and I saw at last you were the man I had seen through my visions. It became personal. I suppose I felt... _attached_ somehow. Like I was helping a long lost friend. And you were so... you were so different from anyone else I know. You couldn't see me, and yet it felt like you were actually _looking_ at me, looking beyond the things that had always prevented others from accepting me. You were so warm, so kind, and the way you made me laugh... of course I was going to fall for you", she spoke softly as she rested her hands against his back.

"I am glad that you came. It was not my plan to die during this campaign", he said to her, looking straight into her eyes and finding them easy to meet. There was the woman he had come to know the last few days... she could try to be reticent and remote, but she had already revealed too much of herself to be successful in fooling him.

But then her expression became strange and she shifted in a way that suggested she wanted to be freed, and Éomer lowered her down. He didn't like letting her go so soon, but the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable or cornered.

"My lord, I need you to tell me right now and here what is it you want of me. Otherwise, I cannot let this go on any longer than it already has", she announced, as though this was something that she had long meant to speak.

"I want never to let go of you. I want to take you back Rohan and show you my land. And I want you to stop pulling away from me", he said, and the words tumbled out as though on their own. But none of it wasn't anything he didn't mean, even if it was a little disjointed and didn't sound the way it had in his head.

Perhaps that was the reason she looked so miserable. At once, Éomer felt like some uncultured swine who thinks he's complimenting the woman when in fact his words are a hideous insult.

"Sire, do not toy with me", she said, taking a step back. He could tell she was trying to sound tough, but her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, revealing her insecurity.

"I'm not toying with you, Lady Princess. I only wish to win your trust", he said, holding down his hands and trying to make himself as amiable as possible.

"Were I a careless woman, I would give it to you in a heartbeat", she said, lifting her head to meet his eyes. A slight film of tears covered those strange eyes, but there was also fierce will in them. "But I have not that luxury. For ever since I was young, I have thought I would always be alone. And after you have gone, I am not likely to meet another man who is even willing to look beyond appearances. Certainly I don't think there is anyone who could compare to you. So I must know what you mean to do with that trust, for I do not give it unless in the same exchange I give my heart. I need you to tell me if there is the slightest doubt in your mind. If you are not serious with me, and if there is a chance that you lose interest, then I ask you to leave me alone before... before I fall in love with you even more than I already have."

Éomer looked at the woman before him in wonder. How strange it was, that so much of her words hit so close to home with him! For hadn't he often feared that he'd always be alone? Or that looking at her, he knew he'd never meet anyone like her again?

And there was that other thing: she had already fallen in love with him. Sometime during those dark hours that he had lived dependent of her, weak and vulnerable in ways he wasn't familiar with or liked, she had found something in him she could love. Many ladies he could name would have quickly lost any interest they had in him, but this princess saw him as lovable anyway.

"My lady, I do not ask for halves or for brief amusement. I just want the woman who has challenged and held me bewitched these past few days. And I would never treat you ill, or betray your trust. I do not commit lightly, Lothíriel, or make idle promises. You have my trust completely – what you have done has earned it a thousand times. And I cannot describe how much I desire you to return it", he spoke, solemn and intent, and in a bout of inspiration he took one knee before her; perhaps she would feel more secure if she was the one towering over him. Gently he grasped her both hands in his and kissed them, those small skilled hands that had prevented his death.

Princess Lothíriel cried out, but the sound was like music – a noise that could scarcely come from the lips of a daughter of Men. And he was enchanted as though a clueless hero in a song when he comes across a princess of the fay folk. There was such tenderness for her and his heart was full of it; its beauty and its promise made him dizzy.

She descended on her knees as well, wrapping her arms about his neck. He could feel how she shivered and knew it was because of a great tumult of emotion. Éomer closed his eyes, buried his face in her soft hair, and let himself just _feel._

"My heart is not as hardy as you might think. Do you promise that you will be kind to it?" she mumbled into his ear, her lips whispering against his earlobe. He turned his head so that he could look at her.

"I would be happy to keep it safe, Princess", he told her and gave her a tentative smile. Usually, the moves he made towards the fairer sex were bold, but now he knew he would have to approach this woman in an entirely new way. And he wanted it too, he realised: she was not someone he merely desired to have in his bed for tonight. Hers was the spirit, the wit, the heart he wished to explore for the rest of his days.

"Then it's yours, Éomer King", she whispered, and she kissed him.

 _To be continued._

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 **A/N:** So, here we finally have the truth about Lothíriel! When I first came up with this story, it was clear to me she would be "strange" in some way that only eye could see - hence, Éomer would have to be blind at the time he first meets her. I admit I did toy with the idea of leaving him permanently blind, because that is one delicious premise for a story, but on the other hand it's also grounds for a massive conflict, considering he's the King of Rohan. And I was not prepared to write that down.

As for Lothíriel, I quickly dismissed angles where she was disfigured or scarred. Those options seemed too obvious to me, and I wanted to do something that would not be easily guessed either by Éomer or the reader. I did wonder whether the eventual reveal would be a disappointment, but I hope it's not. I think people can be considered weird also for other reasons than physical disfigurement or scarring. Also, I would say that a good part of her "weirdness" comes from the particular circumstances of her birth. She has grown up thinking that she's somehow wrong and that she killed her mother, and this has in fact only pushed her further into behaviour that sets her apart. Furthermore, her having no proper censure during her years growing up as far as her visions go plays a part as well. Chances are if she could get away from the circumstances that only feed her experience of desolation, she might discover she's not as peculiar and appalling as she thinks.

On a sidenote, the idea of Lothíriel in this story - or the way people regard her - was more or less inspired by folk tales about changelings. These stories are common in Europe and in them, the human child is switched by the fairies to their own - a sickly, unusual baby. Seeing how gossip and rumours work, I think it's entirely possible that people in Dol Amroth got the whole thing about Lothíriel's twin dying at birth mixed with this idea that Imrahil's only daughter was somehow switched, thus boosting the climate of wariness and distrust she grew up in.

But luckily for Lothíriel, Éomer is already quite fond of her, and he is not repelled by her being odd. And perhaps that is also a point where she begins to understand that she does have a place in this world.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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 **sailor68 -** Yes, they are not very pleased with his reckless attitude! But you are right - it should be an experience to make him wiser!

 **The Solaris -** I am most sorry on the behalf of your fingers and knuckles! :D I do hope the reveal about her is satisfactory, though.

 **CarawynO** \- No, he wouldn't! His blindness at that point has lasted for such a short while, he just isn't able to let it impact actions that come from his very core traits. I admit I loved writing that bit with Éothain, too! :D

 **Anon -** I imagine that is a good thing! :) Unfortunately she doesn't get to tell him the truth, but I hope you like the way he finds out!

 **EStrunk -** No reason to worry anymore! Like I said in A/N, I did toy with the idea of leaving him permanently blind, but on the other hand it would be silly to do that if I had no intention to explore how this impacts his life both as a man and a king in the long run. It's really a topic for whole other story.

Anyway, he's not going to sit down when someone he cares about is under threat!

 **Nerdanel -** No need to kill anything! :D His eyesight is back and all is quite well!

 **Jo -** I am glad to hear that! :)

 **Estel la Rodeuse -** Thanks for your comment! I did worry that people would think too much of that story when reading this one, but hopefully I've managed to put my own spin on this idea. And it would have been a waste of an interesting situation if I had not explored what it could mean for him if he never saw again.

Anyway, I hope you liked what we learned about Lothíriel in this chapter!

 **Doranwen -** Safe they are indeed! And now her secret is out - hopefully it was satisfactory!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

With a small sigh of satisfaction, Princess Lothíriel of Amroth tied the last knot around the bandages of the man she was currently treating. He had taken some injuries during the battle in the camp, but he was healing well and his mood was light. No wonder, for in a couple of days the forces of Rohan and Gondor would finally begin the journey home and leave these wild, empty lands. A troop of Gondorian footmen would stay behind to keep watch and make sure the Southrons would not come creeping back the moment their backs were turned, but after the crushing victory King Elessar and Éomer King had taken over them, she was sure there would be a peace at least for a while in South Gondor.

Having finished with his bandages, she instructed him to keep the wounds clean and produced some salve from her healer's satchel that she always kept with her. She told him how to use it and tried not to think of spreading the same salve on tanned skin that fresh scars shot across, and a pair of dark, fierce eyes watching her every move. Daydreams had never threatened her focus until now.

When Lothíriel was packing her satchel, the Rohir spoke suddenly. He had that same golden hair she had come to love, and warm, friendly eyes. She only hoped that the rest of his people would be welcoming her as well as this man.

"My lady, if you don't mind", he started carefully, "there have been some rumours... is it true? Has Éomer King proposed to you?"

Her cheeks warmed. Well, she had expected news would spread soon enough, but herself she was still in the process of trying to wrap her mind around everything. After a lifetime of believing she would always be alone, it was deeply bewildering to have a handsome young king asking her to marry him. But if _she_ was bewildered, then the reaction of the court of Dol Amroth would be something she both anticipated and dreaded.

"It is true, though we haven't yet spoken to my father", she said now. It was no use to try and hide it, even if she would have wanted – especially after the story about how the madman had rushed to look for her alone and still blind while the camp was under attack had spread among Rohirrim. Strangely enough, only Éothain held a grudge over it, and his ire was fully directed at his king. Most men who had mentioned it to her seemed supremely amused.

The Rider she had been tending to grinned. She was so used to people avoiding her and just generally agreeing she was _weird_ that the way these northern men acted still confused her. It was as though they didn't even notice anything off about her. The best she could figure, after the saving the life of their king and nursing him back to health, she could have had three heads and dragon wings and yet they would still have loved her.

"May Béma bless you, my lady", said his patient warmly and bowed his head.

Lothíriel muttered bewildered thanks before exiting the small tent. Sunset was close and she was expected to join her betrothed and few others for dinner. So she headed for her own lodgings to dispose of her healer's gear. While she walked, she passed by recovering warriors. Some were already well enough to make the journey home, but others would be shipped all the way to Minas Tirith: Father had kindly agreed to provide ships for transport. Some of them greeted her with a smile, which she answered. She had always felt more comfortable at war camps and healers' quarters, because after surviving a battlefield with an inch of their life, her patients hardly cared about strange princesses.

As she walked, she thought of the man who had just given her his blessings. Was it a futile hope to wish that the rest of Rohirrim would receive her in a similar fashion? She did not go declaring her visions as she once had; at least she might be able to live without the stigma of evil luck. Furthermore, Lothíriel had always felt that a good part of why people in Dol Amroth spurned her was because of her late mother – the famous, beloved princess who had died so tragically. She was still a legendary character in the city by the sea, and those who had known her surely did not forget the reason she was gone. But she was no one to Rohirrim, so perhaps Éomer _was_ Lothíriel's chance to start a new life. It would have been a lie to say she didn't hope for it.

Either way, she was not so scared of what future would bring. With him by her side, she felt invincible.

The princess made a quick stop at her own little tent. It was one of the upsides of being Imrahil's daughter, as most of the other healers shared lodgings together. Once inside, she put down her satchel and undid the apron she used to cover her simple, night-blue gown. Past couple of days, she had regretted not bringing any of her nicer dresses – she had never felt so mousy in her healer's garb as she did now. Would Éomer expect her to dress more grandly when they were married? Well, she supposed it couldn't be helped. He was a king, after all. They wouldn't call his queen a great beauty, but she wouldn't let anyone say that she looked like she had just wandered out of the Houses of Healing. Then again, with a husband so handsome and tall, no one was going to be looking at _her._ Lothíriel smiled wryly and reminded herself she was not going to be a jealous little wife who attaches herself to her spouse in the fear of infidelity. After all, there was no one more loyal than Éomer. And it didn't seem to matter to him what she looked like. Sometimes she wondered if she remained a blind spot in his vision.

After checking her hair was intact – the usual braid fastened around her head in a circlet – she smoothed her dress once more and headed outside. She was now walking faster than before, for she was eager to join the company of her betrothed.

Reaching the tent of the King of Rohan, she was greeted by four guards; Éothain had been very precise about surrounding his lord with watchful eyes ever since the night of the attack, even though Éomer now saw again and the enemies were finished. The men bowed their heads when she came. Lothíriel met the captain at the doorway of the tent – he was carrying various scrolls in his arms and he beamed at her as he stepped out. That she had both saved the life of the King of Rohan and then agreed to marry the man seemed to have made her Éothain's favourite person in the world. She smiled at the Rider, silently thankful that Éomer would not be her only ally in the Mark.

One guard lifted the doorflap for her and she stepped inside. Éomer was seated by the table – she guessed he and Éothain had been planning the journey home. Leaning his chin against his knuckles, he stared idly at his armour, which rested neatly on a stand at the corner. He seemed relaxed in a way like a great beast might be, though not distracted; he turned to look at her the moment she arrived. She supposed she liked watching him so much because he was always so easy and confident with his body. Somehow it went even beyond the self-assurance that many years of battle training would yield to a dedicated warrior.

And when she looked at him and met his gaze, she could briefly glimpse a little boy with striking resemblance to her father... but with those same dark eyes she had first perceived as an empty, blind pair, and which now met hers with fire and _life._ She hadn't told him about that yet – it wouldn't be proper to talk about children before their betrothal was even made official.

He smiled and rose up to meet her, dressed in green form-fitting tunic and soft buckskin breeches – an image so rich and fair that not even her wildest fantasies could have produced his like. Lothíriel felt a little weak in the knees just to look at him. Though he had been handsome in her visions, nothing could have prepared her for the man himself in the flesh. She surmised it was only due to a lifetime of practice in hiding her emotions that he had not yet figured out how he impacted her. But if he kept kissing her in such bold, passionate ways, he was sure to find out.

"My lady", he greeted her in those deep, rich tones that made her think of velvet and sunlight. Those words were not a honorific title anymore when he spoke them – rather they had become a caress.

"Sire", she answered and reached her hand towards him as she approached, But instead of taking it, he came to her, lifted her in the air, and kissed her. He seemed to be fond of picking her up at any given time – understandable, perhaps, considering their difference in height.

She groaned against his mouth, and scolded him when the kiss ended, "Haven't I told you need to be careful? You're not supposed to be lifting anything yet! Or do you want to relapse?"

"Not going to happen", he told her in a warm, husky voice, and his eyes glimmered. "I've never been better."

Lothíriel let out a small, frustrated sound, hiding her smile. At times, a shiver of delight would go through her when he met her eyes and did not flinch. Not many people seemed to be able to look at the mismatched pair for long.

"Elbereth, what am I going to do with you?" she lamented and cast a glance of feigned suffering towards heavens.

"Marry me, of course. Then you can keep an eye on me at all times", he said with a charming grin. Éomer was never more dangerously, mouth-wateringly attractive than when he was happy.

"Yes, I think I shall do just that", she retorted and kissed him, albeit a little timidly. Until now, no one ever touched her voluntarily, not beyond her family. And so there were times she tensed when he lay a hand on her shoulder, or wrapped his arms around her. But he knew not to mind after she had explained with an ever deepening blush on her cheeks that she didn't react thusly because she didn't like touching. He had looked like he was personally insulted by this lack of physical affection in her life, and was now on an on-going mission to lavish her with it.

Resting his arms around her, he asked, "Are you done for the day?"

"I should be, unless some reckless Rohirrim decide to get into trouble again", she replied and gave him a meaningful look. Her king laughed and the rich sound had her heart jumping in joy. But there was wonder as well, the kind that came to her at times: that someone so wonderful would indeed want her. It seemed like a most amazing kind of mistake, and she was sure people would tell him so as well. It made her want to pinch herself to make sure this was not just some beautiful dream. And maybe pinch him too, just to be certain he was in his right mind.

"What you described is bound to happen sooner or later", he said in good humour as he went to buckle on his sword, "but considering you have agreed to marry me and are like to face a lifetime of dealing with troublesome Eorlingas, you would do well to enjoy this moment of peace."

Now it was her turn to laugh, but then Éomer added, "Assuming your father accepts, of course."

"I think he will", said Lothíriel, and seeing him lifting his eyebrows, she continued, "No, I haven't seen anything. But there is no other man in the world he'd rather have as a son-in-law, and you almost lost your life and your eyesight when you saved Erchirion's life. Father will want to make amends."

A small part of her could not help but think maybe Father would snatch the opportunity also because it would take _her_ off of his hands. But she told herself this came from a lifetime of insecurity, and her sire loved her no matter what.

Ushering that thought from her mind, she added in a lighter voice, "Though I expect he will first be bewildered that I return from war with a man at my arm."

Now her king laughed once more. His dark eyes glimmered as he came to her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. Lothíriel let herself relax against him and briefly closed her eyes. She liked how _safe_ it felt there – how solid and reliable he was. For the first time in her life, someone who wasn't family had her back.

He bowed his head to kiss her brow and then spoke, "Aragorn has asked us to join him for dinner. Do you mind his company?"

"He is your dear friend, so I very well shouldn't mind. And I do like him. He's very kind", said she with a slight smile. But she had only good things to say about the man: King Elessar had seen enough of strange things during his time that he did not seem to think there was anything off about her. Rather, upon hearing of their intentions, he had acted like an excited brother-in-law, delighted to have a new member in the family. She could understand it, for Éomer had told her that Aragorn had no living kin. Instead, he seemed to have adopted as his family a rag-tag company of friends from Halflings to Rohirric kings.

Perhaps it was also a circle that would accept her as she was. But even if it wasn't, she knew she wouldn't be alone anymore. Here with her was someone whose company and acceptance could keep her heart full for the rest of her life.

"As is right. Everyone who knows what is good for them should be kind to my bride", said Éomer, grinning smugly as though he had won the hand of Lúthien herself. But perhaps that was just the thing about love, she mused: when it is real, when it goes so deep, you would see the one you loved as Beren saw Tinúviel.

She hid that thought deep, for Aragorn must be expecting them already. So she reached for his hand and simply commented, "You are impossible."

"I'm glad you noticed", Éomer said lightly and interlaced her fingers with his own. The strength she felt there made her feel invulnerable. "Shall we, then?"

"Let's go", Lothíriel replied, smiling as she did. Perhaps for the first time in her entire life, she felt _free._

He lifted the door flap for her and she pulled him after her, and together they stepped into the warm, fragrant evening.

* * *

 **THE END.**

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 **A/N:** And here we are at the end! After the previous chapter, I didn't really feel like I had enough plot left to continue this little story. Usually, that is a good sign it's time to wrap things up. Even so, after spending so much time inside Éomer's head, I thought it would be a nice closing to see things through Lothíriel's eyes and show that she is actually quite smitten. I don't think anyone is more surprised about her getting Éomer's attention than she herself is!

This was a nice little story to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did! I do have something new brewing, and I hope to publish the first chapter of my next story before the holidays. But we'll see if I can get it edited - and come up with a title I don't hate - while my little sojourn to some old fandoms continues. Either way, thank you all for reading and reviewing! Your support keeps me going. :)

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 **AHealingRenaissance -** I'm happy to hear you think so! :)

 **EStrunk -** Thanks! Yes, she has not had the easiest life. But what I like about this version of her is that she has still retained this inner beauty despite her life experiences, and I think that's one thing Éomer truly loves about her. I see him as such a decent, good man that when seeing such insecurity as hers, he'd do all he can to make her feel safe.

 **The Solaris -** :D I am glad if I could surprise! Her mismatched eyes definitely are a big reason people shun her, but I imagine it's a little more complicated than that. But maybe in Rohan she'll get a fresh start!

 **Jo -** Thank you! :)

 **Guest -** Thank you very much!

 **Tibblets -** Indeed they can be! They're just a part of why she is perceived as "weird", though.

 **Doranwen -** Yes, at that point he has already fallen for her, and so it's difficult for him to see the things that usually make people avoid her. And I think that as a character, Éomer is this person who works to overcome prejudices instead of refusing to give them up. So that definitely helps when he sees her at last.

 **Anon -** Thank you! It would be important to her that he tells her exactly what he wants from her. She's already in love with him more or less, she knows this, and she's also quite painfully aware of how much it would hurt if he's not actually serious with her. So she makes him speak straight and sincere, and maybe in the process he too realises something vital about what he feels for her. :)

Also I'd imagine that having a future with him by her side, she can find a way to embrace her foresight.

 **eschscholzia -** She's not a changeling actually, but I think maybe Gondorians have their own superstitions about children that aren't "right". It's where her characterization in this story was inspired, more or less.

I've always imagined him not liking the sea - he only tolerates it for Lothíriel's sake! :D

 **sailor68 -** Indeed it is! I hope you enjoyed it. :)


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